

THE STAMPEDE 


THE LOG 
OF A COWBOY 


toe of tl)e 

BY 

ANDY ADAMS 

ILUSTRATED BY E. BO YD SMITH 


&quot; Our cattle also shall go with us.&quot; 

Exodus iv. 26. 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

( tie fii 


COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY ANDY ADAMS 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Published May, 1903. 


A 2-&quot; 


a 

TO THE 
COWMEN AND BOYS OP 

THE OLD WESTERN TRAIL 

THESE PAGES ABE 

GRATEFULLY 

DEDICATED 


o o /? cr 


CONTENTS 

PAGH 
CHAP. 

I. UP THE TRAIL 

II. RECEIVING 

III. THE START .... 

IV. THE ATASCOSA 
V. A DRY DRIVE . 

VI. A REMINISCENT NIGHT . 
VII. THE COLORADO . 
VIIL ON THE BRAZOS AND WICHITA 
IX. DOAN S CROSSING 
X. No MAN S LAND . 
XL A BOGGY FORD . 
XII. THE NORTH FORK . 
XIII. DODGE 

XIV. SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 
XV. THE BEAVER 
XVI. THE REPUBLICAN . 
XVII. OGALALLA . 

XVIII. THE NORTH PLATTE 
XIX. FORTY ISLANDS FORD - 28* 

XX. A MOONLIGHT DRIVE 
XXL THE YELLOWSTONE . 
XXII. OUR LAST CAMP-FIRE . 

XXIII. DELIVERY . 

XXIV. BACK TO TEXAS .... 379 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


MM 


THE STAMPEDE (page 42) . . Frontispiece 

MAP SHOWING THE TRAIL ..... 28 

HEAT AND THIRST . 

MEETING WITH INDIANS ..... 138 

CELEBRATING IN DODGE .... 

STORY-TELLING ...... 236 

SWIMMING THE PLATTB .... 292 


THE LOG OF A COWBOY 


CHAPTER I 

UP THE TKAIL 

JUST why my father moved, at the close of the 
civil war, from Georgia to Texas, is to this good 
hour a mystery to me. While we did not exactly 
belong to the poor whites, we classed with them in 
poverty, being renters ; but I am inclined to think 
my parents were intellectually superior to that 
common type of the South. Both were foreign 
born, my mother being Scotch and my father a 
north of Ireland man, as I remember him, now, 
impulsive, hasty in action, and slow to confess a 
fault. It was his impulsiveness that led him to 
volunteer and serve four years in the Confederate 
army, trying years to my mother, with a brood 
of seven children to feed, garb, and house. The 
war brought me my initiation as a cowboy, of 
which I have now, after the long lapse of years, 
the greater portion of which were spent with cat 
tle, a distinct recollection. Sherman s army, in 
its march to the sea, passed through our county, 
devastating that section for miles in its passing. 


2 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

Foraging parties scoured the country on either 
side of its path. My mother had warning in time 
and set her house in order. Our work stock con 
sisted of two yoke of oxen, while our cattle num 
bered three cows, and for saving them from the 
foragers credit must be given to my mother s gen 
eralship. There was a wild canebrake, in which 
the cattle fed, several hundred acres in extent, 
about a mile from our little farm, and it was neces 
sary to bell them in order to locate them when 
wanted. But the cows were in the habit of coming 
up to be milked, and a soldier can hear a bell as 
well as any one. I was a lad of eight at the time, 
and while my two older brothers worked our few 
fields, I was sent into the canebrake to herd the 
cattle. We had removed the bells from the oxen 
and cows, but one ox was belled after darkness each 
evening, to be unbelled again at daybreak. I always 
carried the bell with me, stuffed with grass, in order 
to have it at hand when wanted. 

During the first few days of the raid, a number 
of mounted foraging parties passed our house, but 
its poverty was all too apparent, and nothing was 
molested. Several of these parties were driving 
herds of cattle and work stock of every description, 
while by day and by night gins and plantation 
houses were being given to the flames. Our one- 
roomed log cabin was spared, due to the ingenious 
tale told by my mother as to the whereabouts of my 
father ; and yet she taught her children to fear God 


UP THE TRAIL 3 

and tell the truth. My vigil was trying to one of 
my years, for the days seemed like weeks, but the 
importance of hiding our cattle was thoroughly im 
pressed upon my mind. Food was secretly brought 
to me, and under cover of darkness, my mother and 
eldest brother would come and milk the cows, when 
we would all return home together. Then, before 
daybreak, we would be in the cane listening for the 
first tinkle, to find the cattle and remove the bell. 
And my day s work commenced anew. 

Only once did I come near betraying my trust. 
About the middle of the third day I grew very 
hungry, and as the cattle were lying down, I crept 
to the edge of the canebrake to see if my dinner was 
not forthcoming. Soldiers were in sight, which ex 
plained everything. Concealed in the rank cane I 
stood and watched them. Suddenly a squad of five 
or six turned a point of the brake and rode within 
fifty feet of me. I stood like a stone statue, my 
concealment being perfect. After they had passed, 
I took a step forward, the better to watch them as 
they rode away, when the grass dropped out of the 
bell and it clattered. A red- whiskered soldier heard 
the tinkle, and wheeling his horse, rode back. I 
grasped the clapper and lay flat on the ground, my 
heart beating like a trip-hammer. He rode within 
twenty feet of me, peering into the thicket of cane, 
and not seeing anything unusual, turned and gal 
loped away after his companions. Then the lesson, 
taught me by my mother, of being &quot; faithful over a 


4 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

few things,&quot; flashed through my mind, and though 
our cattle were spared to us, I felt very guilty. 

Another vivid recollection of those boyhood days 
in Georgia was the return of my father from the 
army. The news of Lee s surrender had reached 
us, and all of us watched for his coming. Though 
he was long delayed, when at last he did come rid 
ing home on a swallow-marked brown mule, he was 
a conquering hero to us children. We had never 
owned a horse, and he assured us that the animal 
was his own, and by turns set us on the tired mule s 
back. He explained to mother and us children 
how, though he was an infantryman, he came into 
possession of the animal. Now, however, with my 
mature years and knowledge of brands, I regret to 
state that the mule had not been condemned and 
was in the &quot; U. S.&quot; brand. A story which Priest, 
&quot; The Rebel,&quot; once told me throws some light on the 
matter, he asserted that all good soldiers would 
steal. &quot; Can you take the city of St. Louis ? &quot; was 
asked of General Price. &quot; I don t know as I can 
take it,&quot; replied the general to his consulting supe 
riors, &quot; but if you will give me Louisiana troops, 
I 11 agree to steal it&quot; 

Though my father had lost nothing by the war, 
he was impatient to go to a new country. Many of 
his former comrades were going to Texas, and, as 
our worldly possessions were movable, to Texas we 
started. Our four oxen were yoked to the wagon, 
in which our few household effects were loaded and 


UP THE TRAIL 5 

in which mother and the smaller children rode, and 
with the cows, dogs, and elder boys bringing up the 
rear, our caravan started, my father riding the mule 
and driving the oxen. It was an entire summer s 
trip, full of incident, privation, and hardship. The 
stock fared well, but several times we were com 
pelled to halt and secure work in order to supply 
our limited larder. Through certain sections, how 
ever, fish and game were abundant. I remember 
the enthusiasm we all felt when we reached the 
Sabine Kiver, and for the first time viewed the pro 
mised land. It was at a ferry, and the sluggish river 
was deep. When my father informed the ferry 
man that he had no money with which to pay the 
ferriage, the latter turned on him remarking, sar 
castically: &quot;What, no money? My dear sir, it 
certainly can t make much difference to a man 
which side of the river he s on, when he has no 
money.&quot; 

Nothing daunted by this rebuff, my father argued 
the point at some length, when the ferryman relented 
so far as to inform him that ten miles higher up, the 
river was fordable. We arrived at the ford the 
next day. My father rode across and back, testing 
the stage of the water and the river s bottom before 
driving the wagon in. Then taking one of the older 
boys behind him on the mule in order to lighten 
the wagon, he drove the oxen into the river. Near 
the middle the water was deep enough to reach the 
wagon box, but with shoutings and a free applic? 


6 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

tion of the gad, we hurried through in safety. One 
of the wheel oxen, a black steer which we called 
&quot; Pop-eye,&quot; could be ridden, and I straddled him 
in fording, laving my sunburned feet in the cool 
water. The cows were driven over next, the dogs 
swimming, and at last, bag and baggage, we were 
in Texas. 

We reached the Colorado River early in the fall, 
where we stopped and picked cotton for several 
months, making quite a bit of money, and near 
Christmas reached our final destination on the San 
Antonio River, where we took up land and built a 
house. That was a happy home ; the country was 
new and supplied our simple wants ; we had milk 
and honey, and, though the fig tree was absent, 
along the river grew endless quantities of mustang 
grapes. 

At that time the San Antonio valley was prin 
cipally a cattle country, and as the boys of our 
family grew old enough the fascination of a horse 
and saddle was too strong to be resisted. My two 
older brothers went first, but my father and mother 
made strenuous efforts to keep me at home, and 
did so until I was sixteen. I suppose it is natural 
for every country boy to be fascinated with some 
other occupation than the one to which he is bred. 
In my early teens, I always thought I should like 
either to drive six horses to a stage or clerk in a 
store, and if I could have attained either of those 
lofty heights, at that age, I would have asked no 


UP THE TRAIL 7 

more. So ray father, rather than see me follow in 
the footsteps of my older brothers, secured me a 
situation in a village store some twenty miles dis 
tant. The storekeeper was a fellow countryman 
of my father from the same county in Ireland, 
in fact and I was duly elated on getting away 
from home to the life of the village. 

But my elation was short-lived. I was to receive 
no wages for the first six months. My father coun 
seled the merchant to work me hard, and, if pos 
sible, cure me of the &quot; foolish notion,&quot; as he termed 
it. The storekeeper cured me. The first week I 
was with him he kept me in a back warehouse shell 
ing corn. The second week started out no better. 
I was given a shovel and put on the street to work 
out the poll-tax, not only of the merchant but of 
two other clerks in the store. Here was two weeks 
work in sight, but the third morning I took break 
fast at home. My mercantile career had ended, 
and forthwith I took to the range as a preacher s 
son takes to vice. By the time I was twenty there 
was no better cow-hand in the entire country. I 
could, besides, speak Spanish and play the fiddle, 
and thought nothing of riding thirty miles to a 
dance. The vagabond temperament of the range 
I easily assimilated. 

Christmas in the South is always a season of fes 
tivity, and the magnet of mother and home yearly 
drew us to the family hearthstone. There we 
brothers met and exchanged stories of our expe- 


8 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

riences. But one year both my brothers brought 
home a new experience. They had been up the 
trail, and the wondrous stories they told about the 
northern country set my blood on fire. Until then 
I thought I had had adventures, but mine paled into 
insignificance beside theirs. The following summer, 
my eldest brother, Robert, himself was to boss a 
herd up the trail, and I pleaded with him to give 
me a berth, but he refused me, saying: &quot;No, 
Tommy; the trail is one place where a foreman 
can have no favorites. Hardship and privation 
musf be met, and the men must throw themselves 
equally into the collar. I don t doubt but you re 
a good hand ; still the fact that you re my brother 
might cause other boys to think I would favor you. 
A trail outfit has to work as a unit, and dissensions 
would be ruinous. I had seen favoritism shown 
on ranches, and understood his position to be right. 
Still I felt that I must make that trip if it were 
possible. Finally Robert, seeing that I was over 
anxious to go, came to me and said : &quot; I ve been 
thinking that if I recommended you to Jim Flood, 
iny old foreman, he might take you with him next 
year. He is to have a herd that will take five 
months from start to delivery, and that will be the 
chance of your life. I 11 see him next week and 
make a strong talk for you.&quot; 

True to his word, he bespoke me a job with Flood 
the next time he met him, and a week later a letter 
from Flood reached me, terse and pointed, engaging 


UP THE TRAIL 9 

my services as a trail hand for the coming summer. 
The outfit would pass near our home on its way to 
receive the cattle which were to make up the trail 
herd. Time and place were appointed where I was 
to meet them in the middle of March, and I felt as 
if I were made. I remember my mother and sisters 
twitted me about the swagger that came into my 
walk, after the receipt of Flood s letter, and even 
asserted that I sat my horse as straight as a poker. 
Possibly ! but was n t I going up the trail with Jim 
Flood, the boss foreman of Don Lovell, the cowman 
and drover ? 

Our little ranch was near Cibollo Ford on the 
river, and as the outfit passed down the country, 
they crossed at that ford and picked me up. Flood 
was not with them, which was a disappointment 
to me, &quot; Quince &quot; Forrest acting as segundo at the 
time. They had four mules to the &quot; chuck &quot; wagon 
under Barney McCann as cook, while the remuda, 
under Billy Honeyman as horse wrangler, num 
bered a hundred and forty-two, ten horses to 
the man, with two extra for the foreman. Then, 
for the first time, I learned that we were going 
down to the mouth of the Rio Grande to receive the 
herd from across the river in Old Mexico ; and that 
they were contracted for delivery on the Blackfoot 
Indian Reservation in the northwest corner of 
Montana. Lovell had several contracts with the 
Indian Department of the government that year, and 
had been granted the privilege of bringing in, free 


10 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

of duty, any cattle to be used in filling Indian con 
tracts. 

My worst trouble was getting away from home 
on the morning of starting. Mother and my sis 
ters, of course, shed a few tears ; but my father, 
stern and unbending in his manner, gave me 
his benediction in these words : &quot; Thomas Moore, 
you re the third son to leave our roof, but your 
father s blessing goes with you. I left my own 
home beyond the sea before I was your age.&quot; And 
as they all stood at the gate, I climbed into my 
saddle and rode away, with a lump in my throat 
which left me speechless to reply. 


CHAPTER II 

*% 

RECEIVING 

IT was a nice ten days trip from the San An 
tonio to the Rio Grande River. We made twenty- 
five to thirty miles a day, giving the saddle horses 
all the advantage of grazing on the way. Rather 
than hobble, Forrest night-herded them, using five 
guards, two men to the watch of two hours each. 
&quot; As I have little hope of ever rising to the dignity 
of foreman,&quot; said our segundo, while arranging 
the guards, &quot; I 11 take this occasion to show you 
varmints what an iron will I possess. With the 
amount of help I have, I don t propose to even 
catch a night horse ; and I 11 give the cook orders 
to bring me a cup of coffee and a cigarette before 
I arise in the morning. I ve been up the trail be 
fore and realize that this authority is short-lived, 
so I propose to make the most of it while it lasts. 
Now you all know your places, and see you don t 
incur your foreman s displeasure.&quot; 

The outfit reached Brownsville on March 25th, 
where we picked up Flood and Lovell, and drop 
ping down the river about six miles below Fort 
Brown, went into camp at a cattle ford known as 
Paso Ganado. The Rio Grande was two hundred 


12 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

yards wide at this point, and at its then stage was 
almost swimming from bank to bank. It had very 
little current, and when winds were favorable the 
tide from the Gulf ran in above the ford. Flood 
had spent the past two weeks across the river, re 
ceiving and road-branding the herd, so when the 
cattle should reach the river on the Mexican side 
we were in honor bound to accept everything bear 
ing the &quot; circle dot&quot; O on the left hip. The con 
tract called for a thousand she cattle, three and 
four years of age, and two thousand four and five 
year old beeves, estimated as sufficient to fill a mil 
lion-pound beef contract. For fear of losses on 
the trail, our foreman had accepted fifty extra head 
of each class, and our herd at starting would num 
ber thirty-one hundred head. They were coming 
up from ranches in the interior, and we expected to 
cross them the first favorable day after their arri 
val. A number of different rancheros had turned 
in cattle in making up the herd, and Flood reported 
them in good, strong condition. 

Lovell and Flood were a good team of cowmen. 
The former, as a youth, had carried a musket in 
the ranks of the Union army, and at the end of 
that struggle, cast his fortune with TexaSo Where 
others had seen nothing but the desolation of war, 
Lovell saw opportunities of business, and had yearly 
forged ahead as a drover and beef contractor. He 
was well calculated to manage the cattle business, 
but was irritable and inclined to borrow trouble, 


% RECEIVING 13 

therefore unqualified personally to oversee the ac 
tual management of a cow herd. In repose, Don 
Lovell was slow, almost dull, but in an emergency 
was astonishingly quick-witted and alert- He never 
insisted on temperance among his men, and though 
usually of a placid temperament, when out of to 
bacco Lord ! 

Jim Flood, on the other hand, was in a hundred 
respects the antithesis of his employer. Born to 
the soil of Texas, he knew nothing but cattle, but 
he knew them thoroughly. Yet in their calling, the 
pair were a harmonious unit. He never crossed 
a bridge till he reached it, was indulgent with his 
men, and would overlook any fault, so long as they 
rendered faithful service. Priest told me this in 
cident : Flood had hired a man at Red River the 
year before, when a self-appointed guardian pre 
sent called Flood to one side and said, 

&quot; Don t you know that that man you ve just 
hired is the worst drunkard in this country ? &quot; 

&quot;No, I didn t know it,&quot; replied Flood, &quot;but 
I m glad to hear he is. I don t want to ruin an 
innocent man, and a trail outfit is not supposed to 
have any morals. Just so the herd don t count out 
shy on the day of delivery, I don t mind how many 
drinks the outfit takes.&quot; 

The next morning after going into camp, the first 
thing was the allotment of our mounts for the trip. 
Flood had the first pick, and cut twelve bays and 
browns. His preference for solid colors, though 


14 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

they were not the largest in the remuda^ showed 
his practical sense of horses. When it came the 
boys turn to cut, we were only allowed to cut one 
at a time by turns, even casting lots for first choice. 
We had ridden the horses enough to have a fair 
idea as to their merits, and every lad was his own 
judge. There were, as it happened, only three pinto 
horses in the entire saddle stock, and these three 
were the last left of the entire bunch. Now a little 
boy or girl, and many an older person, thinks that 
a spotted horse is the real thing, but practical cat 
tle men know that this freak of color in range-bred 
horses is the result of in-and-in breeding, with con 
sequent physical and mental deterioration. It was 
my good fortune that morning to get a good mount 
of horses, three sorrels, two grays, two coyotes, a 
black, a brown, and a grulla. The black was my 
second pick, and though the color is not a hardy 
one, his &quot; bread-basket &quot; indicated that he could 
carry food for a long ride, and ought to be a good 
swimmer. My judgment of him was confirmed 
throughout the trip, as I used him for my night 
horse and when we had swimming rivers to ford. 
I gave this black the name of &quot; Nigger Boy.&quot; 

For the trip each man was expected to furnish 
his own accoutrements. In saddles, we had the 
ordinary Texas make, the housings of which cov 
ered our mounts from withers to hips, and would 
weigh from thirty to forty pounds, bedecked with 
the latest in the way of trimmings and trappings. 


RECEIVING 15 

Our bridles were in keeping with the saddles, the 
reins as long as plough lines, while the bit was fre 
quently ornamental and costly. The indispensable 
slicker, a greatcoat of oiled canvas, was ever at 
hand, securely tied to our can tie strings. Spurs 
were a matter of taste. If a rider carried a quirt, 
he usually dispensed with spurs, though, when used, 
those with large, dull rowels were the make com 
monly chosen. In the matter of leggings, not over 
half our outfit had any, as a trail herd always kept 
in the open, and except for night herding they were 
too warm in summer. Our craft never used a cat 
tle whip, but if emergency required, the loose end 
of a rope served instead, and was more humane. 

Either Flood or Lovell went into town every 
afternoon with some of the boys, expecting to hear 
from the cattle. On one trip they took along the 
wagon, laying in a month s supplies. The rest of 
us amused ourselves in various ways. One after 
noon when the tide was in, we tried our swimming 
horses in the river, stripping to our underclothing, 
and, with nothing but a bridle on our horses, 
plunged into tidewater. My Nigger Boy swam 
from bank to bank like a duck. On the return I 
slid off behind, and taking his tail, let him tow me 
to our own side, where he arrived snorting like a 
tugboat. 

One evening, on their return from Brownsville, 
Flood brought word that the herd would camp that 
night within fifteen miles of the river. At day- 



16 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

break Lovell and the foreman, with &quot; Fox &quot; Quar- 
ternight and myself, started to meet the herd. The 
nearest ferry was at Brownsville, and it was eleven 
o clock when we reached the cattle. Flood had 
dispensed with an interpreter and had taken Quar- 
ternight and me along to do the interpreting. The 
cattle were well shed and in good flesh for such an 
early season of the year, and in receiving, our fore 
man had been careful and had accepted only such 
as had strength for a long voyage. They were 
the long-legged, long-horned Southern cattle, pale- 
colored as a rule, possessed the running powers of 
a deer, and in an ordinary walk could travel with 
a horse. They had about thirty vaqueros under a 
corporal driving the herd, and the cattle were strung 
out in regular trailing manner. We rode with 
them until the noon hour, when, with the under 
standing that they were to bring the herd to Paso 
Ganado by ten o clock the following day, we rode 
for Matamoros. Lovell had other herds to start on 
the trail that year, and was very anxious to cross 
the cattle the following day, so as to get the weekly 
steamer the only mode of travel which left 
Point Isabel for Galveston on the first of April. 

The next morning was bright and clear, with an 
east wind, which insured a flood tide in the river. 
On first sighting the herd that morning, we made 
ready to cross them as soon as they reached the 
river. The wagon was moved up within a hundred 
yards of the ford, and a substantial corral of ropes 


RECEIVING 17 

was stretched. Then the entire saddle stock was 
driven in, so as to be at hand in case a hasty change 
of mounts was required. By this time Honeyman 
knew the horses of each man s mount, so all we had 
to do was to sing out our horse, and Billy would 
have a rope on one and have him at hand before 
you could unsaddle a tired one. On account of 
our linguistic accomplishments, Quarternight and I 
were to be sent across the river to put the cattle in 
and otherwise assume control. On the Mexican 
side there was a single string of high brush fence 
on the lower side of the ford, commencing well out 
in the water and running back about two hundred 
yards, thus giving us a half chute in forcing the 
cattle to take swimming water. This ford had been 
in use for years in crossing cattle, but I believe this 
was the first herd ever crossed that was intended 
for the trail, or for beyond the bounds of Texas. 

When the herd was within a mile of the river, 
Fox and I shed our saddles, boots, and surplus 
clothing and started to meet it. The water was 
chilly, but we struck it with a shout, and with 
the cheers of our outfit behind us, swam like smug 
glers. A swimming horse needs freedom, and we 
scarcely touched the reins, but with one hand bur 
ied in a mane hold, and giving gentle slaps on the 
neck with the other, we guided our horses for the 
other shore. I was proving out my black, Fox had 
a gray of equal barrel displacement, both good 
swimmers ; and on reaching the Mexican shore, 


18 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

we dismounted and allowed them to roll in the 
warm sand. 

Flood had given us general instructions, and we 
halted the herd about half a mile from the river. 
The Mexican corporal was only too glad to have 
us assume charge, and assured us that he and 
his outfit were ours to command. I at once pro 
claimed Fox Quarternight, whose years and expe 
rience outranked mine, the gringo corporal for the 
day, at which the vaqueros smiled, but I noticed 
they never used the word. On Fox s suggestion 
the Mexican corporal brought up his wagon and 
corralled his horses as we had done, when his cook, 
to our delight, invited all to have coffee before start 
ing. That cook won our everlasting regards, for his 
coffee was delicious. We praised it highly, where 
upon the corporal ordered the cook to have it at 
hand for the men in the intervals between crossing 
the different bunches of cattle. A March day on the 
Rio Grande with wet clothing is not summer, and 
the vaqueros hesitated a bit before following the 
example of Quarternight and myself and dispens 
ing with saddles and boots. Five men were then 
detailed to hold the herd as compact as possible, 
and the remainder, twenty-seven all told, cut off 
about three hundred head and started for the river. 
I took the lead, for though cattle are less gregari 
ous by nature than other animals, under pressure 
of excitement they will follow a leader. It was 
about noon and the herd were thirsty, so when we 


RECEIVING 19 

reached the brush chute, all hands started them on 
a run for the water. When the cattle were once 
inside the wing we went rapidly, four vaqueros rid 
ing outside the fence to keep the cattle from turning 
the chute on reaching swimming water. The lead 
ers were crowding me close when Nigger breasted 
the water, and closely followed by several lead 
cattle, I struck straight for the American shore. 
The vaqueros forced every hoof into the river, fol 
lowing and shouting as far as the midstream, when 
they were swimming so nicely, Quarternight called 
off the men and all turned their horses back to the 
Mexican side. On landing opposite the exit from 
the ford, our men held the cattle as they came out, 
in order to bait the next bunch. 

I rested my horse only a few minutes before tak 
ing the water again, but Lovell urged me to take 
an extra horse across, so as to have a change in 
case my black became fagged in swimming. Quar 
ternight was a harsh segundo, for no sooner had I 
reached the other bank than he cut off the second 
bunch of about four hundred and started them. 
Turning Nigger Boy loose behind the brush fence, 
so as to be out of the way, I galloped out on my 
second horse, and meeting the cattle, turned and 
again took the lead for the river. My substitute 
did not swim with the freedom and ease of the 
black, and several times cattle swam so near me 
that I could lay my hand on their backs. When 
about halfway over, I heard shoutings behind me 


20 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

in English, and on looking back saw Nigger Boy 
swimming after us. A number of vaqueros at 
tempted to catch him, but he outswam them and 
came out with the cattle ; the excitement was too 
*nuch for him to miss. 

Each trip was a repetition of the former, with 
varying incident. Every hoof was over in less than 
two hours. On the last trip, in which there were 
about seven hundred head, the horse of one of the 
Mexican vaqueros took cramps, it was supposed, 
at about the middle of the river, and sank with 
out a moment s warning. A number of us heard 
the man s terrified cry, only in time to see horse 
and rider sink. Every man within reach turned to 
the rescue, and a moment later the man rose to the 
surface. Fox caught him by the shirt, and, shaking 
the water out of him, turned him over to one of the 
other vaqueros, who towed him back to their own 
side. Strange as it may appear, the horse never 
came to the surface again, which supported the sup 
position of cramps. 

After a change of clothes for Quarternight and 
myself, and rather late dinner for all hands, there 
yet remained the counting of the herd. The Mexi 
can corporal and two of his men had come over for 
the purpose, and though Lovell and several wealthy 
rancheros, the sellers of the cattle, were present, it 
remained for Flood and the corporal to make the 
final count, as between buyer and seller. There 
was also present a river guard, sent out by the 


RECEIVING 21 

United States Custom House, as a matter of form 
in the entry papers, who also insisted on count 
ing. In order to have a second count on the herd, 
Lovell ordered The Eebel to count opposite the gov 
ernment s man. We strung the cattle out, now logy 
with water, and after making quite a circle, brought 
the herd around where there was quite a bluff bank 
of the river. The herd handled well, and for a 
quarter of an hour we lined them between our four 
mounted counters. The only difference in the 
manner of counting between Flood and the Mex 
ican corporal was that the American used a tally 
string tied to the pommel of his saddle, on which 
were ten knots, keeping count by slipping a knot 
on each even hundred, while the Mexican used ten 
small pebbles, shifting a pebble from one hand to 
the other on hundreds. &quot; Just a mere difference 
in nationality,&quot; Lovell had me interpret to the sell 
ing dons. 

When the count ended only two of the men 
agreed on numbers, The Rebel and the corporal 
making the same thirty-one hundred and five, 
Flood being one under and the Custom House man 
one over. Lovell at once accepted the count of 
Priest and the corporal ; and the delivery, which, 
as I learned during the interpreting that followed, 
was to be sealed with a supper that night in 
Brownsville, was consummated. Lovell was com 
pelled to leave us, to make the final payment for 
the herd, and we would not see him again for some 


22 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

time. They were all seated in the vehicle ready 
to start for town, when the cowman said to his 
foreman, 

&quot;Now, Jim, I can t give you any pointers on 
handling a herd, but you have until the 10th day 
of September to reach the Blackf oot Agency. An 
average of fifteen miles a day will put you there 
on time, so don t hurry. I 11 try and see you at 
Dodge and Ogalalla on the way. Now, live well, 
for I like your outfit of men. Your credit letter is 
good anywhere you need supplies, and if you want 
more horses on the trail, buy them and draft on me 
through your letter of credit. If any of your men 
meet with accident or get sick, look out for them the 
same as you would for yourself, and I 11 honor all 
bills. And don t be stingy over your expense ac 
count, for if that herd don t make money, you and 
I had better quit cows.&quot; 

I had been detained to do any interpreting need 
ful, and at parting Lovell beckoned to me. When 
I rode alongside the carriage, he gave me his hand 
and said, 

&quot; Flood tells me to-day that you re a brother of 
Bob Quirk/ Bob is to be foreman of my herd that 
I m putting up in Nueces County. I in glad you re 
here with Jim, though, for it s a longer trip. Yes, 
you 11 get all the circus there is, and stay for the 
concert besides. They say God is good to the poor 
and the Irish; and if that s so, you 11 pull through 
all right. Good-by, son.&quot; And as he gave me a 


RECEIVING 23 

hearty, ringing grip of the hand, I couldn t help 
feeling friendly toward him, Yankee that he was. 

After Lovell and the dons had gone, Flood or 
dered McCann to move his wagon back from the 
river about a mile. It was now too late in the day 
to start the herd, and we wanted to graze them well, 
as it was our first night with them. About half 
our outfit grazed them around on a large circle, pre 
paratory to bringing them up to the bed ground as 
it grew dusk. In the untrammeled freedom of the 
native range, a cow or steer will pick old dry grass 
on which to lie down, and if it is summer, will 
prefer an elevation sufficient to catch any passing 
breeze. Flood was familiar with the habits of cat 
tle, and selected a nice elevation on which the old 
dry grass of the previous summer s growth lay 
matted like a carpet. 

Our saddle horses by this time were fairly well 
broken to camp life, and, with the cattle on hand, 
night herding them had to be abandoned. Billy 
Honeyman, however, had noticed several horses that 
were inclined to stray on day herd, and these few 
leaders were so well marked in his memory that, as 
a matter of precaution, he insisted on putting a rope 
hobble on them. At every noon and night camp 
we strung a rope from the hind wheel of our wagon, 
and another from the end of the wagon tongue back 
to stakes driven in the ground or held by a man, 
forming a triangular corral. Thus in a few minutes, 
under any conditions, we could construct a tempo- 


24 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

rary corral for catching a change of mounts, or for 
the wrangler to hobble untrustworthy horses. On 
the trail all horses are free at night, except the 
regular night ones, which are used constantly dur 
ing the entire trip, and under ordinary conditions 
keep strong and improve in flesh. 

Before the herd was brought in for the night, 
and during the supper hour, Flood announced the 
guards for the trip. As the men usually bunked in 
pairs, the foreman chose them as they slept, but 
was under the necessity of splitting two berths of 
bedfellows. &quot; Rod &quot; Wheat, Joe Stallings, and Ash 
Borrowstone were assigned to the first guard, from 
eight to ten thirty P. M. Bob Blades, &quot; Bull &quot; Dur 
ham, and Fox Quarternight were given second 
guard, from ten thirty to one. Paul Priest, John 
Officer, and myself made up the third watch, from 
one to three thirty. The Eebel and I were bunkies, 
and this choice of guards, while not ideal, was much 
better than splitting bedfellows and having them 
annoy each other by going out and returning from 
guard separately. The only fault I ever found 
with Priest was that he could use the poorest judg 
ment in selecting a bed ground for our blankets, and 
always talked and told stories to me until I fell 
asleep. He was a light sleeper himself, while I, 
being much younger, was the reverse. The fourth 
and last guard, from three thirty until relieved 
after daybreak, fell to Wyatt Roundtree, Quince 
Forrest, and &quot; Moss &quot; Stray horn. Thus the only 


RECEIVING 25 

men in the outfit not on night duty were Honey 
man, our horse wrangler, Barney McCann, our 
cook, and Flood, the foreman. The latter, how 
ever, made up by riding almost double as much as 
any man in his outfit. He never left the herd 
until it was bedded down for the night, and we 
could always hear him quietly arousing the cook 
and horse wrangler an hour before daybreak. He 
always kept a horse on picket for the night, and 
often took the herd as it left the bed ground at clear 
dawn. 

A half hour before dark, Flood and all the herd 
men turned out to bed down the cattle for our first 
night. They had been well grazed after counting, 
and as they came up to the bed ground there was 
not a hungry or thirsty animal in the lot. All 
seemed anxious to lie down, and by circling around 
slowly, while gradually closing in, in the course of 
half an hour all were bedded nicely on possibly five 
r six acres. I remember there were a number of 
muleys among the cattle, and these would not ven 
ture into the compact herd until the others had lain 
down. Being hornless, instinct taught them to be 
on the defensive, and it was noticeable that they 
were the first to arise in the morning, in advance of 
their horned kin. When all had lain down, Flood 
and the first guard remained, the others returning 
to the wagon. 

The guards ride in a circle about four rods out 
side the sleeping cattle, and by riding in opposite 


26 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

directions make it impossible for any animal to 
make its escape without being noticed by the riders. 
The guards usually sing or whistle continuously, so 
that the sleeping herd may know that a friend and 
not an enemy is keeping vigil over their dreams. 
A sleeping herd of cattle make a pretty picture on 
a clear moonlight night, chewing their cuds and 
grunting and blowing over contented stomachs. 
The night horses soon learn their duty, and a rider 
may fall asleep or doze along in the saddle, but the 
horses will maintain their distance in their leisurely, 
sentinel rounds. 

On returning to the wagon, Priest and I picketed 
our horses, saddled, where we could easily find them 
in the darkness, and unrolled our bed. We had 
two pairs of blankets each, which, with an ordinary 
wagon sheet doubled for a tarpaulin, and coats and 
boots for pillows, completed our couch. We slept 
otherwise in our clothing worn during the day, and 
if smooth, sandy ground was available on which to 
spread our bed, we had no trouble in sleeping the 
sleep that long hours in the saddle were certain to 
bring. With all his pardonable faults, The Rebel 
was a good bunkie and a hail companion, this be 
ing his sixth trip over the trail. He had been with 
Lovell over a year before the two made the dis 
covery that they had been on opposite sides during 
the &quot;late unpleasantness.&quot; On making this dis 
covery, Lovell at once rechristened Priest &quot;The 
Rebel,&quot; and that name he always bore. He was 


RECEIVING 27 

fifteen years my senior at this time, a wonderfully 
complex nature, hardened by unusual experiences 
into a character the gamut of whose moods ran from 
that of a good-natured fellow to a man of unre 
lenting severity in anger. 

We were sleeping a nine knot gale when Fox 
Quarternight of the second guard called us on our 
watch. It was a clear, starry night, and our guard 
soon passed, the cattle sleeping like tired soldiers. 
When the last relief came on guard and we had 
returned to our blankets, I remember Priest telling 
me this little incident as I fell asleep. 

&quot; I was at a dance once in Live Oak County, and 
there was a stuttering fellow there by the name of 
Lem Todhunter. The girls, it seems, did n t care 
to dance with him, and pretended they could n t 
understand him. He had asked every girl at the 
party, and received the same answer from each 
they could n t understand him. W-w-w-ell, 
g-g-g-go to hell, then. C-c-c-can y-y-you understand 
that? he said to the last girl, and her brother 
threatened to mangle him horribly if he did n t 
apologize, to which he finally agreed. He went 
back into the house and said to the girl, Y-y-you 
n-n-n-need n t g-g-g-go to hell; y-y-your b-b-b-bro- 
ther and I have m-m-made other r-r-r-range- 
ments. &quot; 


CHAPTER III 
THE START 

ON the morning of April 1, 1882, our Circle 
Dot herd started on its long tramp to the Black- 
foot Agency in Montana. With six men on each 
side, and the herd strung out for three quarters of a 
mile, it could only be compared to some mythical 
serpent or Chinese dragon, as it moved forward on 
its sinuous, snail-like course. Two riders, known 
as point men, rode out and well back from the lead 
cattle, and by riding forward and closing in as occa 
sion required, directed the course of the herd. The 
main body of the herd trailed along behind the 
leaders like an army in loose marching order, 
guarded by outriders, known as swing men, who 
rode well out from the advancing column, warding 
off. range cattle and seeing that none of the herd 
wandered away or dropped out. There was no 
driving to do ; the cattle moved of their own free 
will as in ordinary travel. Flood seldom gave 
orders ; but, as a number of us had never worked 
on the trail before, at breakfast on the morning of 
our start he gave in substance these general direc 
tions : 

&quot; Boys, the secret of trailing cattle is never to let 



THE START 29 

your herd know that they are under restraint. Let 
everything that is done be done voluntarily by the 
cattle. From the moment you let them off the bed 
ground in the morning until they are bedded at 
night, never let a cow take a step, except in the 
direction of its destination. In this manner you 
can loaf away the day, and cover from fifteen to 
twenty miles, and the herd in the mean time will 
enjoy all the freedom of an open range. Of course, 
it s long, tiresome hours to the men ; but the condi 
tion of the herd and saddle stock demands sacrifices 
on our part, if any have to be made. And I want 
to caution you younger boys about your horses; 
there is such a thing as having ten horses in your 
string, and at the same time being afoot. You are 
all well mounted, and on the condition of the re- 
muda depends the success and safety of the herd. 
Accidents will happen to horses, but don t let it 
be your fault ; keep your saddle blankets dry and 
clean, for no better word can be spoken of a man 
than that he is careful of his horses. Ordinarily a 
man might get along with six or eight horses, but in 
such emergencies as we are liable to meet, we have 
not a horse to spare, and a man afoot is useless.&quot; 

And as all of us younger boys learned after 
ward, there was plenty of good, solid, horse-sense 
in Flood s advice ; for before the trip ended there 
were men in our outfit who were as good as afoot, 
while others had their original mounts, every one 
fit for the saddle. Flood had insisted on a good 


30 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

mount of horses, and Lovell was cowman enough 
to know that what the mule is to the army the cow- 
horse is to the herd. 

The first and second day out there was no in 
cident worth mentioning. We traveled slowly, 
hardly making an average day s drive. The third 
morning Flood left us, to look out a crossing on 
the Arroyo Colorado. On coming down to receive 
the herd, we had crossed this sluggish bayou about 
thirty-six miles north of Brownsville. It was a 
deceptive-looking stream, being over fifty feet deep 
and between bluff banks. We ferried our wagon 
and saddle horses over, swimming the loose ones. 
But the herd was keeping near the coast line for 
the sake of open country, and it was a question if 
there was a ford for the wagon as near the coast 
as our course was carrying us. The murmurings 
of the Gulf had often reached our ears the day be 
fore, and herds had been known, in former years, 
to cross from the mainland over to Padre Island, 
the intervening Laguna Madre being fordable. 

We were nooning when Flood returned with the 
news that it would be impossible to cross our wagon 
at any point on the bayou, and that we would have 
to ford around the mouth of the stream. Where 
the fresh and salt water met in the laguna, there 
had formed a delta, or shallow bar ; and by follow 
ing its contour we would not have over twelve to 
fourteen inches of water, though the half circle was 
nearly two miles in length. As we would barely 


THE START 31 

have time to cross that day, the herd was at once 
started, veering for the mouth of the Arroyo Colo 
rado. On reaching it, about the middle of the 
afternoon, the foreman led the way, having crossed 
in the morning and learned the ford. The wagon 
followed, the saddle horses came next, while the 
herd brought up the rear. It proved good footing 
on the sandbar, but the water in the laguna was 
too salty for the cattle, though the loose horses lay 
down and wallowed in it. We were about an hour 
in crossing, and on reaching the mainland met a 
vaquero, who directed us to a large fresh-water 
lake a few miles inland, where we camped for the 
night. 

It proved an ideal camp, with wood, water, and 
grass in abundance, and very little range stock to 
annoy us. We had watered the herd just before 
noon, and before throwing them upon the bed 
ground for the night, watered them a second time. 
We had a splendid camp-fire that night, of dry live 
oak logs, and after supper was over and the first 
guard had taken the herd, smoking and story tell 
ing were the order of the evening. The camp-fire 
is to all outdoor life what the evening fireside is to 
domestic life. After the labors of the day are over, 
the men gather around the fire, and the social hour 
of the day is spent in yarning. The stories told 
may run from the sublime to the ridiculous, from a 
true incident to a base fabrication, or from a touch 
ing bit of pathos to the most vulgar vulgarity. 


32 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

&quot; Have I ever told this outfit my experience with 
the vigilantes when I was a kid ? &quot; inquired Bull 
Durham. There was a general negative response, 
and he proceeded. &quot; Well, our folks were living 
on the Frio at the time, and there was a man in our 
neighborhood who had an outfit of four men out 
beyond Nueces Canon hunting wild cattle for their 
hides. It was necessary to take them out supplies 
about every so often, and on one trip he begged 
my folks to let me go along for company. I was a 
slim slip of a colt about fourteen at the time, and 
as this man was a friend of ours, my folks con 
sented to let me go along. We each had a good 
saddle horse, and two pack mules with provisions 
and ammunition for the hunting camp. The first 
night we made camp, a boy overtook us with the 
news that the brother of my companion had been 
accidentally killed by a horse, and of course he 
would have to return. Well, we were twenty miles 
on our way, and as it would take some little time 
to go back and return with the loaded mules, I 
volunteered, like a fool kid, to go on and take the 
packs through. 

&quot; The only question was, could I pack and un 
pack. I had helped him at this work, double- 
handed, but now that I was to try it alone, he 
showed me what he called a squaw hitch, with 
which you can lash a pack single-handed. After 
putting me through it once or twice, and satisfying 
himself that I could do the packing, he consented 


THE START 33 

to let me go on, lie and the messenger returning 
home during the night. The next morning I packed 
without any trouble and started on my way. It 
would take me two days yet, poking along with 
heavy packs, to reach the hunters. Well, I had n t 
made over eight or ten miles the first morning, 
when, as I rounded a turn in the trail, a man 
stepped out from behind a rock, threw a gun in my 
face, and ordered me to hold up my hands. Then 
another appeared from the opposite side with his 
gun leveled on me. Inside of half a minute a dozen 
men galloped up from every quarter, all armed to 
the teeth. The man on leaving had given me his 
gun for company, one of these old smoke-pole, cap- 
and-ball six-shooters, but I must have forgotten 
what guns were for, for I elevated my little hands 
nicely. The leader of the party questioned me as 
to who I was, and what I was doing there, and 
what I had in those packs. That once, at least, I 
told the truth. Every mother s son of them was 
cursing and cross-questioning me in the same breath. 
They ordered me off my horse, took my gun, and 
proceeded to verify my tale by unpacking the 
mules. So much ammunition aroused their suspi 
cions, but my story was as good as it was true, and 
they never shook me from the truth of it. I soon 
learned that robbery was not their motive, and the 
leader explained the situation. 

&quot; A vigilance committee had been in force in that 
county for some time, trying to rid the country of 


34 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

lawless characters. But lawlessness got into the 
saddle, and had bench warrants issued and served 
on every member of this vigilance committee. As 
the vigilantes numbered several hundred, there was 
no jail large enough to hold such a number, so they 
were released on parole for appearance at court. 
When court met, every man served with a capias &quot; 

&quot;Hold on! hold your horses just a minute,&quot; 
interrupted Quince Forrest, &quot;I want to get that 
word. I want to make a memorandum of it, for 
I may want to use it myself sometime. Capias ? 
Now I have it ; go ahead.&quot; 

&quot; When court met, every man served with a 
bench warrant from the judge presiding was pre 
sent, and as soon as court was called to order, a 
squad of men arose in the court room, and the next 
moment the judge fell riddled with lead. Then the 
factions scattered to fight it out, and I was passing 
through the county while matters were active. 

&quot; They confiscated my gun and all the ammuni 
tion in the packs, but helped me to repack and 
started me on my way. A happy thought struck 
one of the men to give me a letter, which would 
carry me through without further trouble, but the 
leader stopped him, saying, Let the boy alone. 
Your letter would hang him as sure as hell s hot, 
before he went ten miles farther, I declined the 
letter. Even then I did n t have sense enough to 
turn back, and inside of two hours I was rounded 
up by the other faction. I had learned my story 


THE START 35 

perfectly by this time, but those packs had to come 
off again for everything to be examined. There 
was nothing in them now but flour and salt and 
such things nothing that they might consider 
suspicious. One fellow in this second party took 
a fancy to my horse, and offered to help hang me 
on general principles, but kinder counsels prevailed. 
They also helped me to repack, and I started on 
once more. Before I reached my destination the 
following evening, I was held up seven different 
times. I got so used to it that I was happily dis 
appointed every shelter I passed, if some man did 
not step out and throw a gun in my face. 

&quot; I had trouble to convince the cattle hunters of 
my experiences, but the absence of any ammuni 
tion, which they needed worst, at last led them to 
give credit to my tale. I was expected home within 
a week, as I was to go down on the Nueces on a cow 
hunt which was making up, and I only rested one 
day at the hunters camp. On their advice, I took 
a different route on my way home, leaving the mules 
behind me. I never saw a man the next day re 
turning, and was feeling quite gala on my good for 
tune. When evening came on, I sighted a little 
ranch house some distance off the trail, and con 
cluded to ride to it and stay overnight. As I ap 
proached, I saw that some one lived there, as there 
were chickens and dogs about, but not a person 
in sight. I dismounted and knocked on the door, 
when, without a word, the door was thrown wide 


36 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

open and a half dozen guns were poked into my 
face. I was ordered into the house and given a 
chance to tell my story again. Whether my story 
was true or not, they took no chances on me, but 
kept me all night. One of the men took my horse 
to the stable and cared for him, and I was well fed 
and given a place to sleep, but not a man offered a 
word of explanation, from which I took it they did 
not belong to the vigilance faction. When it came 
time to go to bed, one man said to me, Now, 
sonny, don t make any attempt to get away, and 
don t move out of your bed without warning us, for 
you 11 be shot as sure as you do. We won t harm 
a hair on your head if you re telling us the truth ; 
only do as you re told, for we 11 watch you. 

&quot; By this time I had learned to obey orders while 
in that county, and got a fair night s sleep, though 
there were men going and coming all night. The 
next morning I was given my breakfast ; my horse, 
well cuffed and saddled, was brought to the door, 
and with this parting advice I was given permission 
to go : Son, if you ve told us the truth, don t look 
back when you ride away. You 11 be watched for 
the first ten miles after leaving here, and if you ve 
lied to us it will go hard with you. Now, remem 
ber, don t look back, for these are times when no 
one cares to be identified. I never questioned that 
man s advice ; it was die dog or eat the hatchet 
with me. I mounted my horse, waved the usual 
parting courtesies, and rode away. As I turned 


THE START 37 

into the trail about a quarter mile from the house, 
I noticed two men ride out from behind the stable 
and follow me. I remembered the story about 
Lot s wife looking back, though it was lead and not 
miracles that I was afraid of that morning. 

&quot; For the first hour I could hear the men talk 
ing and the hoofbeats of their horses, as they rode 
along always the same distance behind me. After 
about two hours of this one-sided joke, as I rode 
over a little hill, I looked out of the corner of my 
eye back at my escort, still about a quarter of 
a mile behind me. One of them noticed me and 
raised his gun, but I instantly changed my view, 
and the moment the hill hid me, put spurs to my 
horse, so that when they reached the brow of the 
hill, I was half a mile in the lead, burning the earth 
like a canned dog. They threw lead close around 
me, but my horse lengthened the distance between 
us for the next five miles, when they dropped en 
tirely out of sight. By noon I came into the old 
stage road, and by the middle of the afternoon 
reached home after over sixty miles in the saddle 
without a halt.&quot; 

Just at the conclusion of Bull s story, Flood 
rode in from the herd, and after picketing his horse, 
joined the circle. In reply to an inquiry from one 
of the boys as to how the cattle were resting, he 
replied, 

&quot; This herd is breaking into trail life nicely. If 
we 11 just be careful with* them now for the first 


38 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

month, and no bad storms strike us in the night, 
we may never have a run the entire trip. That 
last drink of water they had this evening gave them 
a night-cap that 11 last them until morning. No, 
there s no danger of any trouble to-night.&quot; 

For fully an hour after the return of our fore 
man, we lounged around the fire, during which 
there was a full and free discussion _of _ stampedes. 
But finally, Flood, suiting the action to the word 
by arising, suggested that all hands hunt their 
blankets and turn in for the night. A quiet wink 
from Bull to several of the boys held us for the 
time being, and innocently turning to Forrest, Dur 
ham inquired, 

&quot; Where was when was was it you that 
was telling some one about a run you were in last 
summer ? I never heard you tell it. Where was 
it?&quot; 

&quot; You mean on the Cimarron last year when we 
mixed two herds,&quot; said Quince, who had taken the 
bait like a bass and was now fully embarked on a 
yarn.., &quot; We were in rather close quarters, herds 
ahead and behind us, when one night here came a 
cow herd like a cyclone and swept right through 
our camp. We tumbled out of our blankets and 
ran for our horses, but before we could bridle &quot; 

Bull had given us the wink, and every man in 
the outfit fell back, and the snoring that checked 
the storyteller was like a chorus of rip saws run 
ning through pine knots. Forrest took in the 


THE START 39 

situation at a glance, and as he arose to leave, 
looked back and remarked, 

&quot; You must all think that s smart.&quot; 

Before he was out of hearing, Durham said to the 
rest of us, 

&quot; A few doses like that will cure him of sucking 
eggs and acting smart, interrupting folks.&quot; 


CHAPTER IV 

THE ATASCOSA 

FOR the next few days we paralleled the coast, 
except when forced inland by various arms of the 
Laguna Madre. When about a week out from the 
Arroyo Colorado, we encountered the Salt Lagoon, 
which threw us at least fifty miles in from the coast. 
Here we had our last view of salt water, and the 
murmurings of the Gulf were heard no more. Our 
route now led northward through what were then 
the two largest ranches in Texas, the &quot; Running W &quot; 
and Laurel Leaf, which sent more cattle up the 
trail, bred in their own brand, than any other four 
ranches in the Lone Star State. We were nearly 
a week passing through their ranges, and on reach 
ing Santa Gertruda ranch learned that three trail 
herds, of over three thousand head each, had already 
started in these two brands, while four more were 
to follow. 

So far we had been having splendid luck in 
securing water for the herd, once a day at least, 
and often twice and three times. Our herd was be 
coming well trail-broken by this time, and for range 
cattle had quieted down and were docile and easy 
to handle. Flood s years of experience on the trail 


THE ATASCOSA 41 

made him a believer in the theory that stampedes 
were generally due to negligence in not having the 
herd full of grass and water on reaching the bed 
ground at night. Barring accidents, which will 
happen, his view is the correct one, if care has been 
used for the first few weeks in properly breaking the 
herd to the trail. But though hunger and thirst 
are probably responsible for more stampedes than 
all other causes combined, it is the unexpected 
which cannot be guarded against. A stampede is 
the natural result of fear, and at night or in an 
uncertain light, this timidity might be imparted to 
an entire herd by a flash of lightning or a peal of 
thunder, while the stumbling of a night horse, or 
the scent of some wild animal, would in a moment s 
time, from frightening a few head, so infect a herd 
as to throw them into the wildest panic. Amongst 
the thousands of herds like ours which were driven 
over the trail during its brief existence, none ever 
made the trip without encountering more or less 
trouble from runs. Frequently a herd became so 
spoiled in this manner that it grew into a mania 
with them, so that they would stampede on the 
slightest provocation, or no provocation at all. 

A few days after leaving Santa Gertruda Kanch, 
we crossed the Nueces River, which we followed up 
for several days, keeping in touch with it for water 
for the herd. But the Nueces, after passing Oak- 
ville, makes an abrupt turn, doubling back to the 
southwest ; and the Atascosa, one of its tributaries, 


42 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

became our source of water supply. We were be 
ginning to feel a degree of overconfidence in the 
good behavior of our herd, when one night during 
the third week out, an incident occurred in which 
they displayed their running qualities to our com 
plete satisfaction. 

It occurred during our guard, and about two 
o clock in the morning. The night was an unusu 
ally dark one and the atmosphere was very humid. 
After we had been on guard possibly an hour, John 
Officer and I riding in one direction on opposite 
sides of the herd, and The Rebel circling in the op 
posite, Officer s horse suddenly struck a gopher 
burrow with his front feet, and in a moment horse 
and rider were sprawling on the ground. The ac 
cident happened but a few rods from the sleeping 
herd, which instantly came to their feet as one steer, 
and were off like a flash. I was riding my Nigger 
Boy, and as the cattle headed toward me, away from 
the cause of their fright, I had to use both quirt 
and rowel to keep clear of the onrush. Fortunately 
we had a clear country near the bed ground, and 
while the terrified cattle pressed me close, my horse 
kept the lead. In the rumbling which ensued, all 
sounds were submerged by the general din ; and I 
was only brought to the consciousness that I was 
not alone by seeing several distinct flashes from 
six-shooters on my left, and, realizing that I also 
had a gun, fired several times in the air in reply. 
I was soon joined by Priest and Officer, the latter 


THE ATASCOSA 43 

having lost no time in regaining his seat in the 
saddle, and the three of us held together some little 
distance, for it would have been useless to attempt 
to check or turn this onslaught of cattle in their 
first mad rush. 

The wagon was camped about two hundred yards 
from the bed ground, and the herd had given ample 
warning to the boys asleep, so that if we three could 
hold our position in the lead, help would come to 
us as soon as the men in camp could reach their 
horses. Kealizing the wide front of the running 
cattle, Priest sent Officer to the left and myself to 
the right, to point in the leaders in order to keep 
the herd from splitting or scattering, while he re 
mained in the centre and led the herd. I soon 
gained the outside of the leaders, and by dropping 
back and coming up the line, pointed them in to the 
best of my ability. I had repeated this a number 
of times, even quirting some cattle along the out 
side, or burning a little powder in the face of some 
obstinate leader, when across the herd and to the 
rear I saw a succession of flashes like fireflies, which 
told me the boys were coming to our assistance. 

Running is not a natural gait with cattle, and if 
we could only hold them together and prevent split 
ting up, in time they would tire, while the rear cat 
tle could be depended on to follow the leaders. Ail 
we could hope to do was to force them to run 
straight, and in this respect we were succeeding 
splendidly, though to a certain extent it was a guess 


44 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

in the dark. When they had run possibly a rnile, 
I noticed a horseman overtake Priest. After they 
had ridden together a moment, one of them came 
over to my point, and the next minute our foreman 
was racing along by my side. In his impatience 
to check the run, he took me with him, and circling 
the leaders we reached the left point, by which time 
the remainder of the outfit had come up. Now 
massing our numbers, we fell on the left point, and 
amid the flash of guns deflected their course for a 
few moments. A dozen men, however, can cover 
but a small space, and we soon realized that we had 
turned only a few hundred head, for the momentum 
of the main body bore steadily ahead. Abandon 
ing what few cattle we had turned, which, owing to 
their running ability, soon resumed their places in 
the lead, we attempted to turn them to the left. 
Stretching out our line until there was a man about 
every twenty feet, we threw our force against the 
right point and lead in the hope of gradually devi 
ating their course. For a few minutes the attempt 
promised to be successful, but our cordon was too 
weak and the cattle went through between the 
riders, and we soon found a portion of our forces 
on either side of the herd, while a few of the boys 
were riding out of the rush in the lead. 

On rinding our forces thus divided, the five or 
six of us who remained on the right contented our 
selves by pointing in the leaders, for the cattle, so 
far as we could tell, were running compactly. Our 


THE ATASCOSA 45 

foreman, however, was determined to turn the run, 
and after a few minutes time rejoined us on the 
right, when under his leadership we circled the front 
of the herd and collected on the left point, when, for 
a third time, we repeated the same tactics in our 
efforts to turn the stampede. But in this, which 
was our final effort, we were attempting to turn 
them slowly and on a much larger circle, and with 
a promise of success. Suddenly in the dark we 
encountered a mesquite thicket into which the lead 
cattle tore with a crashing of brush and a rattle of 
horns that sent a chill up and down my spine. But 
there was no time to hesitate, for our horses were in 
the thicket, and with the herd closing in on us 
there was no alternative but to go through it, every 
man for himself. I gave Nigger a free rein, shut 
ting my eyes and clutching both can tie and pommel 
to hold my seat ; the black responded to the rowel 
and tore through the thicket, in places higher than 
my head, and came out in an open space consider, 
ably in the lead of the cattle. 

This thicket must have been eight or ten rods 
wide, and checked the run to a slight extent ; but 
as they emerged from it, they came out in scatter 
ing files and resumed their running. Being alone, 
and not knowing which way to turn, I rode to the 
right and front and soon found myself in the lead 
of quite a string of cattle. Nigger and I were pilot 
ing them where they listed, when Joe Stallings, 
hatless himself and his horse heaving, overtook me, 


46 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

and the two of us gave those lead cattle all the 
trouble we knew how. But we did not attempt to 
turn them, for they had caught their wind in for 
cing the thicket, and were running an easy stroke. 
Several times we worried the leaders into a trot, 
but as other cattle in the rear came up, we were 
compelled to loosen out and allow them to resume 
their running, or they would have scattered on us 
like partridges. At this stage of the run, we had 
no idea where the rest of the outfit were, but both 
of us were satisfied the herd had scattered on leav 
ing the mesquite thicket, and were possibly then 
running in half a dozen bunches like the one we 
were with. 

Stallings s horse was badly winded, and on my 
suggestion, he dropped out on one side to try to 
get some idea how many cattle we were leading. 
He was gone some little time, and as Nigger can 
tered along easily in the lead, I managed to eject 
the shells from my six-shooter and refill the cylin 
der. On Joe s overtaking me again, he reported 
that there was a slender column of cattle, half a 
mile in length, following. As one man could easily 
lead this string of the herd until daybreak, I left 
Stallings with them and rode out to the left nearly 
a quarter of a mile, listening to hear if there were 
any cattle running to the left of those we were 
leading. It took me but a few minutes to satisfy 
myself that ours was the outside band on the left, 
and after I rejoined Joe, we made an effort to 
check our holding. 


THE ATASCOSA 47 

There were about fifty or sixty big steers in the 
lead of our bunch, and after worrying them into a 
trot, we opened in their front with our six-shooters, 
shooting into the ground in their very faces, and 
were rewarded by having them turn tail and head 
the other way. Taking advantage of the moment, 
we jumped our horses on the retreating leaders, 
and as fast as the rear cattle forged forward, easily 
turned them. Leaving Joe to turn the rear as they 
came up, I rode to the lead, unfastening my slicker 
as I went, and on reaching the turned leaders, who 
were running on an angle from their former course, 
flaunted my &quot;fish&quot; in their faces until they re- 
entered the rear guard of our string, and we soon 
had a mill going which kept them busy, and rested 
our horses. Once we had them milling, our trouble, 
as far as running was concerned, was over, for all 
two of us could hope to do was to let them exhaust 
themselves in this endless circle. 

It then lacked an hour of daybreak, and all we 
could do was to ride around and wait for daylight. 
In the darkness preceding dawn, we had no idea 
of the number of our bunch, except as we could 
judge from the size and compactness of the milling 
cattle, which must have covered an acre or more. 
The humidity of the atmosphere, which had pre 
vailed during the night, by dawn had changed un 
til a heavy fog, cutting off our view on every hand, 
left us as much at sea as we had been previously. 
But with the break of day we rode through our 


48 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

holding a number of times, splitting and scattering 
the milling cattle, and as the light of day bright 
ened, we saw them quiet down and go to grazing 
as though they had just arisen from the bed ground. 
It was over an hour before the fog lifted sufficiently 
to give us any idea as to our whereabouts, and dur 
ing the interim both Stallings and myself rode to 
the nearest elevation, firing a number of shots in 
the hope of getting an answer from the outfit, but 
we had no response. 

When the sun was sufficiently high to scatter the 
mists which hung in clouds, there was not an object 
in sight by which we could determine our location. 
Whether we had run east, west, or south during 
the night neither of us knew, though both Stallings 
and myself were satisfied that we had never crossed 
the trail, and all we did know for a certainty was 
that we had between six and seven hundred head 
of cattle. Stallings had lost his hat, and I had one 
sleeve missing and both outside pockets torn out of 
my coat, while the mesquite thorns had left their 
marks on the faces of both of us, one particularly 
ugly cut marking Joe s right temple. &quot; I ve worn 
leggins for the last ten years,&quot; said Stallings to 
me, as we took an inventory of our disfigurements, 
&quot; and for about ten seconds in forcing that mes 
quite thicket was the only time I ever drew inter 
est on my investment. They re a heap like a six- 
shooter wear them all your life and never have 
any use for them.&quot; 


THE ATASCOSA 49 

With a cigarette for breakfast, I left Joe to look 
after our bunch, and after riding several miles to 
the right, cut the trail of quite a band of cattle. 
In following up this trail I could easily see that 
some one was in their lead, as they failed to hold 
their course in any one direction for any distance, 
as free cattle would. After following this trail 
about three miles, I sighted the band of cattle, and 
on overtaking them, found two of our boys holding 
about half as many as Stallings had. They re 
ported that The Rebel and Bob Blades had been 
with them until daybreak, but having the freshest 
horses had left them with the dawn and ridden 
away to the right, where it was supposed the main 
body of the herd had run. As Stallings s bunch 
was some three or four miles to the rear and left 
of this band, Wyatt Roundtree suggested that he 
go and pilot in Joe s cattle, as he felt positive that 
the main body were somewhere to our right. On 
getting directions from me as to where he would 
find our holding, he rode away, and I again rode 
off to the right, leaving Rod Wheat with their 
catch. 

The sun was now several hours high, and as my 
black s strength was standing the test bravely, I 
cross-cut the country and was soon on another trail 
of our stampeded cattle. But in following this 
trail, I soon noticed two other horsemen preceding 
me. Knowing that my -services would be too late, 
I only followed far enough to satisfy myself of the 


50 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

fact The signs left by the running cattle were as 
easy to follow as a public road, and in places where 
the ground was sandy, the sod was cut up as if a 
regiment of cavalry had charged across it. On 
again bearing off to the right, I rode for an eleva 
tion which ought to give me a good view of the 
country. Slight as this elevation was, on reaching 
it, I made out a large band of cattle under herd, 
and as I was on the point of riding to them, saw 
our wagon and saddle horses heave in sight from a 
northwest quarter. Supposing they were follow 
ing up the largest trail, I rode for the herd, where 
Flood and two of the boys had about twelve hun 
dred cattle. From a comparison of notes, our fore 
man was able to account for all the men with the 
exception of two, and as these proved to be Blades 
and Priest, I could give him a satisfactory expla 
nation as to their probable whereabouts. On my 
report of having sighted the wagon and remuda 
Flood at once ordered me to meet and hurry them 
in, as not only he, but Strayhorn and Officer, were 
badly in need of a change of mounts. 

I learned from McCann, who was doing the trail 
ing from the wagon, that the regular trail was to 
the west, the herd having crossed it within a quar 
ter of a mile after leaving the bed ground. Join 
ing Honeyman, I took the first horse which came 
within reach of my rope, and with a fresh mount 
under me, we rushed the saddle horses past the 
wagon and shortly came up with our foreman. 


THE ATASCOSA 51 

There we rounded in the horses as best we could 
without the aid of the wagon, and before McCann 
arrived, all had fresh mounts and were ready for 
orders. This was my first trip on the trail, and I 
was hungry and thirsty enough to hope something 
would be said about eating, but .that seemed to be 
the last idea in our foreman s mind. Instead, he 
ordered me to take the two other boys with me, 
and after putting them on the trail of the bunch 
which The Rebel and Blades were following, to 
drift in what cattle we had held on our left. But 
as we went, we managed to encounter the wagon 
and get a drink and a canteen of water from Mc 
Cann before we galloped away on our mission. 
After riding a mile or so together, we separated, 
and on my arrival at the nearest bunch, I found 
Roundtree and Stallings coming up with the larger 
holding. Throwing the two bunches together, we 
drifted them a free clip towards camp. We soon 
sighted the main herd, and saw across to our right 
and about five miles distant two of our men bring 
ing in another bunch. As soon as we turned our 
cattle into the herd, Flood ordered me, on account 
of my light weight, to meet this bunch, find out 
where the last cattle were, and go to their assist 
ance. 

With a hungry look in the direction of our wagon, 
I obeyed, and on meeting Durham and Borrow- 
stone, learned that the outside bunch on the right, 
which had got into the regular trail, had not been 


62 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

checked until daybreak. All they knew about their 
location was that the up stage from Oakville had 
seen two men with Circle Dot cattle about five miles 
below, and had sent up word by the driver that they 
had something like four hundred head. With this 
meagre information, I rode away in the direction 
where one would naturally expect to find our absent 
men, and after scouring the country for an hour, 
sighted a single horseman on an elevation, whom 
from the gray mount I knew for Quince Forrest. 
He was evidently on the lookout for some one to 
pilot them in. They had been drifting like lost 
sheep ever since dawn, but we soon had their cattle 
pointed in the right direction, and Forrest taking 
the lead, Quarter-night and I put the necessary push 
behind them. Both of them cursed me roundly for 
not bringing them a canteen of water, though they 
were well aware that in an emergency like the pre 
sent, our foreman would never give a thought to 
anything but the recovery of the herd. Our com 
fort was nothing ; men were cheap, but cattle cost 
money. 

We reached the camp about two o clock, and 
found the outfit cutting out range cattle which had 
been- absorbed into the herd during the run. Throw 
ing in our contingent, we joined in the work, and 
though Forrest and Quarternight were as good as 
afoot, there were no orders for a change of mounts, 
to say nothing of food and drink. Several hun 
dred mixed cattle were in the herd, and after they 


THE ATASCOSA 53 

had been cut out, we lined our cattle out for a count. 
In the absence of Priest, Flood and John Officer 
did the counting, and as the hour of the day made 
the cattle sluggish, they lined through between the 
counters as though they had never done anything 
but walk in their lives. The count showed sixteen 
short of twenty-eight hundred, which left us yet 
over three hundred outX But good men were on 
their trail, and leaving two men on herd, the rest of 
us obeyed the most welcome orders of the day when 
Flood intimated that we would &quot; eat a bite and go 

after the rest.&quot; 

As we had been in our saddles since one or two 
o clock the morning before, it is needless to add 
that our appetites were equal to the spread which 
our cook had waiting for us. Our foreman, as &amp;gt; 
-though fearful of the loss of a moment s time, sent !/ 
Honeyman to rustle in the horses before we had 
finished our dinners. Once the remuda was cor 
ralled, under the rush of a tireless foreman, dinner 
was quickly over, and fresh horses became the order 
of the moment. The Atascosa, our nearest water, 
lay beyond the regular trail to the west, and leaving 
orders for the outfit to drift the herd into it and 
water, Flood and myself started in search of our 
absent men, not forgetting to take along two extra 
horses as a remount for Blades and Priest. The 
leading of these extra horses fell to me, but with 
the loose end of a rope in Jim Flood s hand as he 
followed, it took fast riding to keep clear of them. 


54 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

After reaching the trail of the missing cattle, our 
foreman set a pace for five or six miles which would 
have carried us across the Nueces by nightfall, and 
we were only checked by Moss Strayhorn riding in 
on an angle and intercepting us in our headlong 
gait. The missing cattle were within a mile of 
us to the right, and we turned and rode to them. 
Strayhorn explained to us that the cattle had struck 
some recent fencing on their course, and after fol 
lowing down the fence several miles had encountered 
an offset, and the angle had held the squad until 
The Rebel and Blades overtook them. When Of 
ficer and he reached them, they were unable to make 
any accurate count, because of the range cattle 
amongst them, and they had considered it advisable 
to save horseflesh and not cut them until more help 
was available. When we came up with the cat 
tle, my bunkie and Blades looked wistfully at our 
saddles, and anticipating their want, I untied my 
slicker, well remembering the reproof of Quarter- 
night and Forrest, and produced a full canteen of 
water, warm of course, but no less welcome,. 

No sooner were saddles shifted than we held up 
the bunch, cut out the range cattle, counted, and 
found we had some three hundred and thirty odd 
Circle Dots, our number more than complete. 
With nothing now missing, Flood took the loose 
horses and two of the boys with him and returned 
to the herd, leaving three of us behind to bring in 
this last contingent of our stampeded cattle. This 


THE ATASCOSA 55 

squad were nearly all large steers, and had run fully 
twenty miles, before, thanks to an angle in a fence, 
they had been checked. As our foreman galloped 
away, leaving us behind, Bob Blades said, 

&quot; Has n t the boss got a wiggle on himself to 
day ! If he d made this old world, he d have made 
it in half a day, and gone fishing in the afternoon 
if his horses had held out.&quot; 

We reached the Atascosa shortly after the arrival 
of the herd, and after holding the cattle on the wa 
ter for an hour, grazed them the remainder of the 
evening, for if there was any virtue in their having 
full stomachs, we wanted to benefit from it. While 
grazing that evening, we recrossed the trail on an 
angle, and camped in the most open country we 
could find, about ten miles below our camp of the 
night before. Every precaution was taken to pre 
vent a repetition of the run ; our best horses were 
chosen for night duty, as our regular ones were too 
exhausted ; every advantage of elevation for a bed 
ground was secured, and thus fortified against ac 
cident, we went into camp for the night. But the 
expected never happens on the trail, and the sun 
arose the next morning over our herd grazing in 
peace and contentment on the flowery prairies which 
border on the Atascosa. 


CHAPTER V 

A DRY DRIVE 

OUR cattle quieted down nicely after this run, 
and the next few weeks brought not an incident 
worth recording. There was no regular trail 
through the lower counties, so we simply kept to 
the open country. Spring had advanced until the 
prairies were swarded with grass and flowers, while 
water, though scarcer, was to be had at least once 
daily. We passed to the west of San Antonio 
an outfitting point which all herds touched in pass 
ing northward and Flood and our cook took the 
wagon and went in for supplies. But the outfit 
with the herd kept on, now launched on a broad, 
well-defined trail, in places seventy-five yards wide, 
where all local trails blent into the one common 
pathway, known in those days as the Old Western 
Trail. It is not in the province of this narrative 
to deal with the cause or origin of this cattle trail, 
though it marked the passage of many hundred 
thousand cattle which preceded our Circle Dots, 
and was destined to afford an outlet to several 
millions more to follow. The trail proper consisted 
of many scores of irregular cow paths, united into 
one broad passageway, narrowing and widening as 


A DRY DRIVE 57 

conditions permitted, yet ever leading northward. 
After a few years of continued use, it became as 
well defined as the course of a river.^ 

Several herds which had started farther up coun 
try were ahead of ours, and this we considered an 
advantage, for wherever one herd could go, it was 
reasonable that others could follow. Flood knew 
the trail as well as any of the other foremen, but 
there was one thing he had not taken into considera 
tion : the drouth of the preceding summer. True, 
there had been local spring showers, sufficient to 
start the grass nicely, but water in such quanti 
ties as we needed was growing daily more difficult 
to find. The first week after leaving San Antonio, 
our foreman scouted in quest of water a full day in 
advance of the herd. One evening he returned to 
us with the news that we were in for a dry drive, 
for after passing the next chain of lakes it was 
sixty miles to the next water, and reports regarding 
the water supply even after crossing this arid stretch 
were very conflicting. 

&quot; While I know every foot of this trail through 
here,&quot; said the foreman, &quot; there s several things 
that look scaly. There are only five herds ahead 
of us, and the first three went through the old route, 
but the last two, after passing Indian Lakes, for 
some reason or other turned and went westward. 
These last herds may be stock cattle, pushing out 
west to new ranges ; but I don t like the outlook. 
It would take me two days to ride across and back, 


58 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

and by that time we could be two thirds of the way 
through. I ve made this drive before without a 
drop of water on the way, and would n t dread it 
now, if there was any certainty of water at the other 
end. I reckon there s nothing to do but tackle 
her ; but is n t this a hell of a country ? I ve rid 
den fifty miles to-day and never saw a soul.&quot; 

The Indian Lakes, some seven in number, were 
natural reservoirs with rocky bottoms, and about a- 
mile apart. We watered at ten o clock the next 
day, and by night camped fifteen miles on our way. 
There was plenty of good grazing for the cattle and 
horses, and no trouble was experienced the first 
night. McCann had filled an extra twenty gallon 
keg for this trip. Water was too precious an 
article to be lavish with, so we shook the dust from 
our clothing and went unwashed. This was no 
serious deprivation, and no one could be critical of 
another, for we were all equally dusty and dirty. 
The next morning by daybreak the cattle were 
thrown off the bed ground and started grazing be 
fore the sun could dry out what little moisture the 
grass had absorbed during the night. Thejbea_of 
the past week had been very oppressive, and in 
order to avoid it as much as possible, we madejate 
and early drives. Before the wagon passed the 
herd during the morning drive, what few canteens 
we had were filled with water for the men. The 
remuda was kept with the herd, and four changes 
of mounts were made during the day, in order not 


A DRY DRIVE 59 

to exhaust any one horse. Several times for an 
hour or more, the herd was allowed to lie down and 
rest; but by the middle of the afternoon thirst 
made them impatient and restless, and the point 
men were compelled to ride steadily in the lead in 
order to hold the cattle to a walk. A number of 
times during the afternoon we attempted to graze 
them, but not until the twilight of evening was it 
possible. 

After the fourth change of horses was made, 
Honeyman pushed on ahead with the saddle stock 
and overtook the wagon. Under Flood s orders he 
was to tie up all the night horses, for if the cattle 
could be induced to graze, we would not bed them 
down before ten that night, and all hands would be 
required with the herd. McCann had instructions 
to make camp on the divide, which was known to be 
twenty-five miles from our camp of the night be 
fore, or forty miles from the Indian Lakes. As we 
expected, the cattle grazed willingly after nightfall, 
and with a fair moon, we allowed them to scatter 
freely while grazing forward. The beacon of Mc- 
Cann s fire on the divide was in sight over an hour 
before the herd grazed up to camp, all hands re 
maining to bed the thirsty cattle. The herd was 
given triple the amount of space usually required 
for bedding, and even then for nearly an hour 
scarcely half of them lay down. 

We were handling the cattle as humanely as pos 
sible under the circumstances. The guards for the 


60 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

night were doubled, six men on the first half and 
the same on the latter, Bob Blades being detailed 
to assist Honeyman in night-herding the saddle 
horses. If any of us got more than an hour s sleep 
that night, he was lucky. Flood, McCann, and the 
horse wranglers did not even try to rest. To those 
of us who could find time to eat, our cook kept 
open house. Our foreman knew that a well-fed 
man can stand an incredible amount of hardship, 
and appreciated the fact that on the trail a good 
cook is a valuable asset. Our outfit therefore was 
cheerful to a man, and jokes and songs helped to 
while away the weary hours of the night. 

The second guard, under Flood, pushed the cattle 
off their beds an hour before dawn, and before they 
were relieved had urged the herd more than five 
miles on the third day s drive over this waterless 
mesa. In spite of our economy of water, after 
breakfast on this third morning there was scarcely 
enough left to fill the canteens for the day. In view 
of this, we could promise ourselves no midday meal 
except a can of tomatoes to the man ; so the 
wagon was ordered to drive through to the expected 
water ahead, while the saddle horses were held 
available as on the day before for frequent chan 
ging of mounts. The day turned out to be one of 
torrid heat, and before the middle of the forenoon, 
the cattle lolled their tongues in despair, while their 
sullen lowing surged through from rear to lead and 
back again in piteous yet ominous appeal. The 



A DRY DRIVE 61 

only relief we could offer was to travel them slowly, 
as they spurned every opportunity offered them 
either to graze or to lie down. 

It was nearly noon when we reached the last 
divide, and sighted the scattering timber of the 
expected watercourse. The enforced order of the 
day before to hold the herd in a walk and pre 
vent exertion and heating now required four men 
in the lead, while the rear followed over a mile be 
hind, dogged and sullen. Near the middle of the 
afternoon, McCann returned on one of his mules 
with the word that it was a question if there was 
water enough to water even the horse stock. The 
preceding outfit, so he reported, had dug a shal 
low well in the bed of the creek, from which he 
had filled his kegs, but the stock water was a mere 
loblolly. On receipt of this news, we changed 
mounts for the fifth time that day; and Flood, 
taking Forrest, the cook, and the horse wrangler, 
pushed on ahead with the remuda to the waterless 
stream. 

The outlook was anything but encouraging. 
Flood and Forrest scouted the creek up and down 
for ten miles in a fruitless search for water. The 
outfit held the herd back until the twilight of even 
ing, when Flood returned and confirmed McCann s 
report. It was twenty miles yet to the next water 
ahead, and if the horse stock could only be watered 
thoroughly, Flood was determined to make the at 
tempt to nurse the herd through to water. McCann 


62 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

was digging an extra well, and he expressed the 
belief that by hollowing out a number of holes, 
enough water could be secured for the saddle stock. 
Honeyman had corralled the horses and was let 
ting only a few go to the water at a time, while the 
night horses were being thoroughly watered as fast 
as the water rose in the well. 

(Holding the herd this third night required all 
hands. Only a few men at a time were allowed to 
go into camp and eat, for the herd refused even to 
lie down. What few cattle attempted to rest were 
prevented by the more restless ones. By spells 
they would mill, until riders were sent through the 
herd at a break-neck pace to break up the groups. 
During these milling efforts of the herd, we drifted 
over a mile from camp ; but by the light of moon 
and stars and the number of riders, scattering was 
prevented. As the horses were loose for the night, 
we could not start them on the trail until daybreak 
gave us a change of mounts, so we lost the early 
start of the morning before. 

Good cloudy weather would have saved us, but 
in its stead was a sultry morning without a breath 
of air, which bespoke another day of sizzling heat. 
We had not been on the trail over two hours be 
fore the heat became almost unbearable to man and 
beast. Had it not been for the condition of the 
herd, all might yet have gone well ; but over three 
days had now elapsed without water for the cattle, 
and they became feverish and ungovernable. The 


A DRY DRIVE 63 

lead cattle turned back several times, wandering 
aimlessly in any direction, and it was with consid 
erable difficulty that the herd could be held on the 
trail. The rear overtook the lead, and the cattle 
gradually lost all semblance of a trail herd. Our 
horses were fresh, however, and after about two 
hours work, we once more got the herd strung out 
in trailing fashion; but before a mile had been 
covered, the leaders again turned, , and the cattle 
congregated into a mass of unmanageable animals, 
milling and lowing in their fever and thirst. The 
milling only intensified their sufferings from the 
heat, and the outfit split and quartered them again 
and again, in the hope that this unfortunate out 
break might be checked. No sooner was the mill 
ing stopped than they would surge hither and yon, 
sometimes half a mile, as ungovernable as the waves 
of an ocean. After wasting several hours in this 
manner, they finally turned back over the trail, and 
the utmost efforts of every man in the outfit failed 
to check them. We threw our ropes in their faces, 
and when this failed, we resorted to shooting ; but 
in defiance of the fusillade and the smoke they 
walked sullenly through the line of horsemen across 
their front. Six-shooters were discharged so close 
to the leaders faces as to singe their hair, yet, under 
a noonday sun, they disregarded this and every 
other device to turn them, and passed wholly out of 
our control. In a number of instances wild steers 
deliberately walked against our horses, and then foi 


64 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

the first time a fact dawned on us that chilled the 
I marrow in our bones, the herd was going blind. 

The bones of men and animals that lie bleaching 
along the trails abundantly testify that this was not 
the first instance in which the plain had baffled the 
determination of man. It was now evident that 
nothing short of water would stop the herd, and we 
rode aside and let them pass. As the outfit turned 
back to the wagon, our foreman seemed dazed by 
the sudden and unexpected turn of affairs, but ral 
lied and met the emergency. 

&quot; There s but one thing left to do,&quot; said he, as we 
rode along, &quot; and that is to hurry the outfit back to 
Indian Lakes. The herd will travel day and night, 
and instinct can be depended on to carry them to 
the only water they know. It s too late to be of 
any use now, but it s plain why those last two herds 
turned off at the lakes ; some one had gone back 
and warned them of the very thing we ve met. We 
must beat them to the lakes, for water is the only 
thing that will check them now. It s a good thing 
that they are strong, and five or six days without 
water will hardly kill any. | It was no vague state 
ment of the man who said if he owned hell and 
Texas, he d rent Texas and live in hell, for if this 
is n t Billy hell, I d like to know what you call it.&quot; 

We spent an hour watering the horses from the 
wells of our camp of the night before, and about two 
o clock started back over the trail for Indian Lakes. 
We overtook the abandoned herd during the after- 


A DRY DRIVE 65 

noon. They were strung out nearly five miles in 
length, and were walking about a three-mile gait. 
Four men were given two extra horses apiece and 
left to throw in the stragglers in the rear, with in 
structions to follow them well into the night, and 
again in the morning as long as their canteens 
lasted. The remainder of the outfit pushed on with 
out a halt, except to change mounts, and reached 
the lakes shortly after midnight. There we secured 
the first good sleep of any consequence for three 
days. 

It was fortunate for us that there were no range 
cattle at these lakes, and we had only to cover a 
front of about six miles to catch the drifting herd. 
It was nearly noon the next day before the cattle 
began to arrive at the water holes in squads of from 
twenty to fifty. Pitiful objects as they were, it was 
a novelty to see them reach the water and slack 
their thirst. Wading out into the lakes until their 
sides were half covered, they would stand and low 
in a soft moaning voice, often for half an hour be 
fore attempting to drink. Contrary to our expecta 
tion, they drank very little at first, but stood in the 
water for hours. After coming out, they would lie 
down and rest for hours longer, and then drink 
again before attempting to graze, their thirst over 
powering hunger. That they were blind there was 
no question, but with the causes that produced it 
once removed, it was probable their eyesight would 
gradually return. 


66 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

By early evening, the rear guard of our outfit 
returned and reported the tail end of the herd some 
twenty miles behind when they left them. During 
the day not over a thousand head reached the lakes, 
and towards evening we put these under herd and 
easily held them during the night. All four of the 
men who constituted the rear guard were sent back 
the next morning to prod up the rear again, and 
during the night at least a thousand more came into 
the lakes, which held them better than a hundred 
men. With the recovery of the cattle our hopes 
grew, and with the gradual accessions to the herd, 
confidence was again completely restored. Our 
saddle stock, not having suffered as had the cattle, 
were in a serviceable condition, and while a few men 
were all that were necessary to hold the herd, the 
others scoured the country for miles in search of 
any possible stragglers which might have missed 
the water.. 

During the forenoon of the third day at the lakes&amp;gt; 
Nat Straw, the foreman of Ellison s* first herd on 
the trail, rode up to our camp. He was scouting 
for water for his herd, and, when our situation was- 
explained and he had been interrogated regarding 
loose cattle, gave us the good news that no strag 
glers in our road brand had been met by their out 
fit. This was welcome news, for we had made no 
count yet, and feared some of them, in their locoed 
condition, might have passed the water during the 
night. Our misfortune was an ill wind by which 


A DRY DRIVE 67 

Straw profited, for he had fully expected to keep 
on by the old route, but with our disaster staring 
him in the face, a similar experience was to be 
avoided. His herd reached the lakes during the 
middle of the afternoon, and after watering, turned 
and went westward over the new route taken by 
the two herds which preceded us. He had a herd 
of about three thousand steers, and was driving to 
the Dodge market. After the experience we had 
just gone through, his herd and outfit were a wel 
come sight. Flood made inquiries after Lovell s 
second herd, under my brother Bob as foreman, but 
Straw had seen or heard nothing of them, having 
come from Goliad County with his cattle. 

After the Ellison herd had passed on and out of 
sight, our squad which had been working the coun 
try to the northward, over the route by which the 
abandoned herd had returned, came in with the in 
formation that that section was clear of cattle, and 
that they had only found three head dead from 
thirst. On the fourth morning, as the herd left the 
bed ground, a count was ordered, and to our sur 
prise we counted out twenty-six head more than we 
had received on the banks of the Rio Grande a 
month before. As there had been but one previous 
occasion to count, the number of strays absorbed 
into our herd was easily accounted for by Priest : 
&quot; If a steer herd could increase on the trail, why 
should n t ours, that had over a thousand cows in 
it ? &quot; The observation was hardly borne out when 


68 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

the ages of our herd were taken into consideration. 
But 1882 in Texas was a liberal day and generation, 
and &quot; cattle stealing &quot; was too drastic a term to use 
for the chance gain of a few cattle, when the found 
ations of princely fortunes were being laid with a 
rope and a branding iron. 

In order to give the Ellison herd a good start of 
us, we only moved our wagon to the farthest lake 
and went into camp for the day. The herd had 
recovered its normal condition by this time, and of 
the troubles of the past week not a trace remained. 
Instead, our herd grazed in leisurely content over 
a thousand acres, while with the exception of a few 
men on herd, the outfit lounged around the wagon 
and beguiled the time with cards. 

We had undergone an &quot;experience which my 
bunkie, The Rebel, termed &quot; an interesting incident 
in his checkered career,&quot; but which not even he 
would have cared to repeat. That night while on 
night herd together the cattle resting in all con 
tentment we rode one round together, and as he 
rolled a cigarette he gave me an old war story : 

&quot; They used to tell the story in the army, that dur 
ing one of the winter retreats, a cavalryman, riding 
along in the wake of the column at night, saw a hat 
apparently floating in the mud and water. In the 
hope that it might be a better hat than the one he 
was wearing, he dismounted to get it. Feeling his 
way carefully through the ooze until he reached the 
hat, he was surprised to find a man underneath and 


A DRY DRIVE 69 

wearing it. Hello, comrade, he sang out, * can I 
lend you a hand ? 

&quot; No, no, replied the fellow, I m all right 5 
I ve got a good mule yet under me. &quot; 


CHAPTER VI 

A KEMINISCENT NIGHT 

ON the ninth morning we made our second start 
from the Indian Lakes. An amusing incident 
occurred during the last night of our camp at these 
water holes. Coyotes had been hanging around 
our camp for several days, and during the quiet 
hours of the night these scavengers of the plain 
had often ventured in near the wagon in search of 
scraps of meat or anything edible. Rod Wheat 
and Ash Borrowstone had made their beds down 
some distance from the wagon ; the coyotes as they 
circled round the camp came near their bed, and 
in sniffing about awoke Borrowstone. There was 
no more danger of attack from these cowards than 
from field mice, but their presence annoyed Ash, 
and as he dared not shoot, he threw his boots at the 
varmints. Imagine his chagrin the next morning 
to find that one boot had landed among the banked 
embers of the camp-fire, and was burned to a crisp. 
It was looked upon as a capital joke by the outfit, 
as there was no telling when we would reach a store 
where he could secure another pair. 

The new trail, after bearing to the westward for 
several days, turned northward, paralleling the old 


A REMINISCENT NIGHT 71 

one, and a week later we came into the old trail 
over a hundred miles north of the Indian Lakes. 
With the exception of one thirty-mile drive without 
water, no fault could be found with the new trail. 
A few days after coming into the old trail, we passed 
Mason, a point where trail herds usually put in for 
supplies. As we passed during the middle of the 
afternoon, the wagon and a number of the boys 
went into the burg. Quince Forrest and Billy 
Honeyman were the only two in the outfit for whom 
there were any letters, with the exception of a letter 
from Lovell, which was common property. Never 
having been over the trail before, and not even 
knowing that it was possible to hear from home, I 
wasn t expecting any letter; but I felt a little 
twinge of homesickness that night when Honeyman 
read us certain portions of his letter, which was 
from his sister. Forrest s letter was from a sweet 
heart, and after reading it a few times, he burnt it, 
and that was all we ever knew of its contents, for 
he was too foxy to say anything, even if it had not 
been unfavorable. Borrowstone swaggered around 
camp that evening in a new pair of boots, which 
had the Lone Star set in filigree-work in their red 
tops. 

At our last camp at the lakes, The Rebel and I, 
as partners, had been shamefully beaten in a game 
of seven-up by Bull Durham and John Officer, and 
had demanded satisfaction in another trial around 
the fire that night. We borrowed McCann s lan~ 


72 THE LOG OF A. COWBOY 

tern, and by the aid of it and the camp-fire had an 
abundance of light for our game. In the absence 
of a table, we unrolled a bed and sat down Indian 
fashion over a game of cards in which all friendship 
ceased. 

The outfit, with the exception of myself, had 
come from the same neighborhood, and an item in 
Honeyman s letter causing considerable comment 
was a wedding which had occurred since the outfit 
had left. It seemed that a number of the boys had 
sparked the bride in times past, and now that she 
was married, their minds naturally became remi 
niscent over old sweethearts. 

&quot; The way I make it oat,&quot; said Honeyman, in 
commenting on the news, &quot; is that the girl had met 
this fellow over in the next county while visiting 
her cousins the year before. My sister gives it as 
a horseback opinion that she d been engaged to 
this fellow nearly eight months ; girls, you know, 
sabe each other that way. Well, it won t affect my 
appetite any if all the girls I know get married 
while I m gone.&quot; 

&quot; You certainly have never experienced the ten 
der passion,&quot; said Fox Quarternirht to our horse 
wrangler, as he lighted his pipe with a v &quot;ind from 
the fire. &quot; Now I have. That s the it on why I 
sympathize with these old beaus of the bride. Of 
course I was too old to stand any show on her string, 
and I reckon the fellow who got her ain t so 
powerful much, except his veneering and being a 


A REMINISCENT NIGHT 73 

stranger, which was a big advantage. To be sure, 
if she took a smile to this stranger, no other fellow 
could check her with a three-quarter rope and a 
snubbing post. I ve seen girls walk right by a 
dozen good fellows and fawn over some scrub. My 
experience teaches me that when there s a woman 
in it, it s haphazard pot luck with no telling which 
way the cat will hop. You can t play any system, 
and merit cuts little figure in general results.&quot; 

&quot; Fox,&quot; said Durham, while Officer was shuffling 
the cards, &quot; your auger seems well oiled and work 
ing keen to-night. Suppose you give us that little 
experience of yours in love affairs. It will be a 
treat to those of us who have never been in love, 
and won t interrupt the game a particle. Cut loose, 
won t you ? &quot; 

&quot; It s a long time back,&quot; said Quarternight, 
meditatively, &quot; and the scars have all healed, so I 
don t mind telling it. I was born and raised on the 
border of the Blue Grass Region in Kentucky. I 
had the misfortune to be born of poor but honest 
parents, as they do in stories ; no hero ever had the 
advantage of me in that respect. In love affairs, 
however, it s a i ugh card in your hand to be born 
rich. T *ntry around my old home had good 

schools, Sv/ we had the advantage of a good educa 
tion. When I was about nineteen, I went away 
from home one winter to teach school a little 
country school about fifteen miles from home. But 
in the okl States fifteen miles from home makes 


74 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

you a dead rank stranger. The trustee of the town 
ship was shucking corn when I went to apply for 
the school. I simply whipped out my peg and 
helped him shuck out a shock or two while we 
talked over school matters. The dinner bell rang, 
and he insisted on my staying for dinner with him. 
Well, he gave me a better school than I had asked 
for better neighborhood, he said and told me 
to board with a certain family who had no children ; 
he gave his reasons, but that s immaterial. They 
were friends of his, so I learned afterwards. They 
proved to be fine people. The woman was one of 
those kindly souls who never know where to stop. 
She planned and schemed to marry me off in spite 
of myself. The first month that I was with them 
she told me all about the girls in that immediate 
neighborhood. In fact, she rather got me unduly 
excited, being a youth and somewhat verdant. She 
dwelt powerful heavy on a girl who lived in a big 
brick house which stood back of the road some dis 
tance. This girl had gone to school at a seminary 
for young ladies near Lexington, studied music 
and painting and was way up on everything. She 
described her to me as black-eyed with rt,ven tresses, 
just like you read about in novels. 

&quot; Things were rocking along ^iceiy, when a few 
days before Christmas a little girl who belonged to 
the family who lived in the brick house brought me 
a note one morning. It was an invitation to take 
supper with them the following evening. The note 


A REMINISCENT NIGHT 75 

was written in a pretty hand, and the name signed 
to it I m satisfied now it was a forgery. My 
landlady agreed with me on that point ; in fact, she 
may have mentioned it first. I never ought to have 
taken her into my confidence like I did. But I 
wanted to consult her, showed her the invitation, 
and asked her advice. She was in the seventh 
heaven of delight ; had me answer it at once, accept 
the invitation with pleasure and a lot of stuff that 
I never used before she had been young once 
herself. I used up five or six sheets of paper in 
writing the answer, spoilt one after another, and 
the one I did send was a flat failure compared to 
the one I received. Well, the next evening when 
it was time to start, I was nervous and uneasy. It 
was nearly dark when I reached the house, but I 
wanted it that way. Say, but when I knocked on 
the front door of that house it was with fear and 
trembling. Is this Mr. Quarternight ? inquired 
a very affable lady who received me. I knew I was 
one of old man Quarter night s seven boys, and 
admitted that that was my name, though it was the 
first time any one had ever called me mister. I was 
welcomed, ushered in, and introduced all around. 
There were a few small children whom I knew, so 
I managed to talk to them. The girl whom I was 
being braced against was not a particle overrated, 
but sustained the Kentucky reputation for beauty. 
She made herself so pleasant and agreeable that my 
fears soon subsided. When the man of the house 


76 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

came in I was cured entirely. He was gruff and 
hearty, opened his mouth and laughed deep. I 
built right up to him. We talked about cattle and 
horses until supper was announced. He was really 
sorry I had n t come earlier, so as to look at a three 
year old colt that he set a heap of store by. He 
showed him to me after supper with a lantern. Fine 
colt, too. I don t remember much about the sup 
per, except that it was fine and I came near spilling 
my coffee several times, my hands were so large and 
my coat sleeves so short. When we returned from 
looking at the colt, we went into the parlor. Say, 
fellows, it was a little the nicest thing that ever I 
went against. Carpet that made you think you 
were going to bog down every step, springy like 
marsh land, and I was glad I came. Then the 
younger children were ordered to retire, and shortly 
afterward the man and his wife followed suit. 

&quot; When I heard the old man throw his heavy 
boots on the floor in the next room, I realized that 
I was left all alone with their charming daughter. 
All my fears of the early part of the evening tried 
to crowd on me again, but were calmed by the girl, 
who sang and played on the piano with no audience 
but me. Then she interested me by telling her 
school experiences, and how glad she was that they 
were over. Finally she lugged out a great big 
family album, and sat down aside of me on one of 
these horsehair sofas. That album had a clasp on 
it, a buckle of pure silver, same as these eighteen 


A REMINISCENT NIGHT 77 

dollar bridles. While we were looking at the pic 
tures some of the old varmints had fought in the 
Revolutionary war, so she said I noticed how 
close we were sitting together. Then we sat farther 
apart after we had gone through the album, one on 
each end of the sofa, and talked about the neighbor 
hood, until I suddenly remembered that I had to go. 
While she was getting my hat and I was getting 
away, somehow she had me promise to take dinner 
with them on Christmas. 

&quot; For the next two or three months it was hard 
to tell if I lived at my boarding house or at the 
brick. If I failed to go, my landlady would hatch 
up some errand and send me over. If she had n t 
been such a good woman, I d never forgive her for 
leading me to the sacrifice like she did. Well, 
about two weeks before school was out, I went home 
over Saturday and Sunday. Those were fatal days 
in my life. When I returned on Monday morning, 
there was a letter waiting for me. It was from the 
girl s mamma. There had been a quilting in the 
neighborhood on Saturday, and at this meet of the 
local gossips, some one had hinted that there was 
liable to be a wedding as soon as school was out. 
Mamma was present, and neither admitted nor 
denied the charge. But there was a woman at this 
quilting who had once lived over in our neighbor 
hood and felt it her duty to enlighten the company 
as to who I was. I got all this later from my land 
lady. 4 Law me, said this woman, l folks round 


78 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

here in this section think our teacher is the son of 
that big farmer who raises so many cattle and 
horses. Why, I ve known both families of those 
Quarternights for nigh on to thirty year. Our 
teacher is one of old John Fox s boys, the Irish 
Quarternights, who live up near the salt licks on Doe 
Run. They were always so poor that the children 
never had enough to eat and hardly half enough to 
wear. 

&quot; This plain statement of facts fell like a bomb 
shell on mamma. She started a private investiga 
tion of her own, and her verdict was in that letter. 
It was a centre shot. That evening when I locked 
the schoolhouse door it was for the last time, for I 
never unlocked it again. My landlady, dear old 
womanly soul, tried hard to have me teach the 
school out at least, but I did n t see it that way. 
The cause of education in Kentucky might have 
gone straight to eternal hell, before I d have stayed 
another day in that neighborhood. I had money 
enough to get to Texas with, and here I am. When 
a fellow gets it burnt into him like a brand that 
way once, it lasts him quite a while. He 11 feel his 
way next time.&quot; 

&quot; That was rather a raw deal to give a fellow,&quot; 
said Officer, who had been listening while playing 
cards. &quot; Did n t you never see the girl again ? &quot; 

&quot; No, nor you would n t want to either if that 
letter had been written to you. And some folks 
claim that seven is a lucky number; there were 


A REMINISCENT NIGHT 79 

seven boys in our family and nary one ever mar 
ried.&quot; 

&quot;That experience of Fox s,&quot; remarked Honey- 
man, after a short silence, &quot; is almost similar to one 
I had. Before Lovell and Flood adopted me, I 
worked for a horse man down on the Nueces. 
Every year he drove up the trail a large herd of 
horse stock. We drove to the same point on the 
trail each year, and I happened to get acquainted 
up jthere with a family that had several girls in it. 
The youngest girl in the family and I seemed to 
understand each other fairly well. I had to stay 
at the horse camp most of the time, and in one way 
and another did not get to see her as much as 
I would have liked. When we sold out the herd, I 
hung around for a week or so, and spent a month s 
wages showing her the cloud with the silver lining. 
She stood it all easy, too. When the outfit went 
home, of course I went with them. I was banking 
plenty strong, however, that next year, if there was 
a good market in horses, I d take her home with 
me. I had saved my wages and rustled around, 
and when we started up the trail next year, I had 
forty horses of my own in the herd. I had figured 
they would bring me a thousand dollars, and there 
was my wages besides. 

&quot;When we reached this place, we held the herd 
out twenty miles, so it was some time before I got 
into town to see the girl. But the first time I did 
get to see her I learned that an older sister of hers, 


80 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

who had run away with some renegade from Texas 
a year or so before, had drifted back home lately 
with tears in her eyes and a big fat baby boy in 
her arms. She warned me to keep away from the 
house, for men from Texas were at a slight discount 
right then in that family. The girl seemed to re 
gret it and talked reasonable, and I thought I could 
see encouragement. I did n t crowd matters, nor 
did her folks forget me when they heard that Byler 
had come in with a horse herd from the Nueces. I 
met the girl away from home several times during 
the summer, and learned that they kept hot water 
on tap to scald me if I ever dared to show up. One 
son-in-law from Texas had simply surfeited that 
family there was no other vacancy. About the 
time we closed out and were again ready to go 
home, there was a cattleman s ball given in this little 
trail town. We stayed over several days to take 
in this ball, as I had some plans of my own. My 
girl was at the ball all easy enough, but she warned 
me that her brother was watching me. I paid no 
attention to him, and danced with her right along, 
begging her to run away with me. It was obviously 
the only play to make. But the more I d suade 
her the more she d fuse. The family was on the 
prod bigger than a wolf, and there was no use rea 
soning with them. After I had had every dance 
with her for an hour or so, her brother coolly 
stepped in and took her home. The next morning 
he felt it his duty, as his sister s protector, to hunt 


A REMINISCENT NIGHT 81 

me up and inform me that if I even spoke to his 
sister again, he d shoot me like a dog. 

&quot; 4 Is that a bluff, or do you mean it for a real 
play ? I inquired, politely. 

444 You ll find that it will be real enough, he 
answered, angrily. 

44 4 Well, now, that s too bad/ I answered ; 4 1 m 
really sorry that I can t promise to respect your 
request. But this much I can assure you : any time 
that you have the leisure and want to shoot me, 
just cut loose your dog. But remember this one 
thing that it will be my second shot, &quot; 

44 Are you sure you wasn t running a blazer 
yourself, or is the wind merely rising?&quot; inquired 
Durham, while I was shuffling the cards for the 
next deal. 

44 Well, if I was, I hung up my gentle honk 
before his eyes and ears and gave him free license 
to call it. The truth is, I did n t pay any more 
attention to him than I would to an empty bottle. 
I reckon the girl was all right, but the family were 
these razor-backed, barnyard savages. It makes 
me hot under the collar yet when I think of it. 
They d have la wed me if I had, but I ought to 
have shot him and checked the breed.&quot; 

44 Why did n t you run off with her ? &quot; inquired 
Fox, dryly. 

44 Well, of course a man of your nerve is always 
capable of advising others. But you see, I m 
strong on the breed. Now a girl can t show her 


82 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

true colors like the girl s brother did, but get ner 
in the harness once, and then she 11 show you the 
white of her eye, balk, and possibly kick over 
the wagon tongue. No, I believe in the breed 
blood 11 tell.&quot; 

&quot; I worked for a cowman once,&quot; said Bull, ir 
relevantly, &quot; and they told it on him that he lost 
twenty thousand dollars the night he was mar 
ried.&quot; 

&quot; How, gambling ? &quot; I inquired. 

&quot;No. The woman he married claimed to be 
worth twenty thousand dollars and she never had 
a cent. Spades trump ? &quot; 

44 No ; hearts,&quot; replied The Eebel. &quot; I used to 
know a foreman up in DeWitt County, Honest 
John Glen they called him. He claimed the only 
chance he ever had to marry was a widow, and the 
reason he did n t marry her was, he was too honest 
to take advantage of a dead man.&quot; 

While we paid little attention to wind or weather, 
this was an ideal night, and we were laggard in 
seeking our blankets. Yarn followed yarn ; for 
nearly every one of us, either from observation or 
from practical experience, had a slight acquaint 
ance with the great mastering passion. But the 
poetical had not been developed in us to an appre 
ciative degree, so we discussed the topic under 
consideration much as we would have done horses 
or cattle. 

Finally the game ended. A general yawn went 


A EEMINISCENT NIGHT 83 

the round of the loungers about the fire. The sec 
ond guard had gone on, and when the first rode in, 
Joe Stallings, halting his horse in passing the fire, 
called out sociably, &quot; That muley steer, the white 
four year old, didn t like to bed down amongst 
the others, so I let him come out and lay down by 
himself. You 11 find him over on the far side of 
the herd. You all remember how wild he was 
when we first started ? Well, you can ride within 
three feet of him to-night, and he 11 grunt and act 
sociable and never offer to get up. I promised 
him that he might sleep alone as long as he was 
good ; I just love a good steer. Make down our 
bed, pardner ; I 11 be back as soon as I picket my 
horse.&quot; 


CHAPTER VII 

THE COLOKADO 

THE month of May found our Circle Dot herd, in 
spite of all drawbacks, nearly five hundred miles 
on its way. For the past week we had been travel 
ing over that immense tableland which skirts the 
arid portion of western Texas. A few days before, 
while passing the blue mountains which stand as a 
southern sentinel in the chain marking the head 
waters of the Concho River, we had our first 
glimpse of the hills. In its almost primitive con 
dition, the country was generous, supplying every 
want for sustenance of horses and cattle. The 
grass at this stage of the season was well matured, 
the herd taking on flesh in a very gratifying man 
ner, and, while we had crossed some rocky country, 
lame and sore-footed cattle had as yet caused us 
no serious trouble. 

One morning when within one day s drive of the 
Colorado River, as our herd was leaving the bed 
ground, the last guard encountered a bunch of 
cattle drifting back down the trail. There were 
nearly fifty head of the stragglers ; and as one of 
our men on guard turned them to throw them away 
from our herd, the road brand caught his eye, and 


THE COLORADO 85 

he recognized the strays as belonging to the Elli 
son herd which had passed us at the Indian 
Lakes some ten days before. Flood s attention 
once drawn to the brand, he ordered them thrown 
into our herd. It was evident that some trouble 
had occurred with the Ellison cattle, possibly a 
stampede ; and it was but a neighborly act to lend 
any assistance in our power. As soon as the outfit 
could breakfast, mount, and take the herd, Flood 
sent Priest and me to scout the country to the 
westward of the trail, while Bob Blades and Ash 
Borrowstone started on a similar errand to the 
eastward, with orders to throw in any drifting cat 
tle in the Ellison road brand. Within an hour 
after starting, the herd encountered several strag 
gling bands, and as Priest and I were on the point 
of returning to the herd, we almost overrode a 
bunch of eighty odd head lying down in some 
broken country. They were gaunt and tired, and 
The Rebel at once pronounced their stiffened move 
ments the result of a stampede. 

We were drifting them back towards the trail, 
when Nat Straw and two of his men rode out from 
our herd and met us. &quot; I always did claim that it 
was better to be born lucky than handsome,&quot; said 
Straw as he rode up. &quot; One week Flood saves me 
from a dry drive, and the very next one, he s just 
the right distance behind to catch my drift from 
a nasty stampede. Not only that, but my peelers 
and I are riding Circle Dot horses, as well as 


86 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

reaching the wagon in time for breakfast and lin 
ing our flues with Lo veil s good chuck. It s too 
good luck to last, I m afraid. 

&quot; I m not hankering for the dramatic in life, 
but we had a run last night that would curl your 
hair. Just about midnight a bunch of range cattle 
ran into us, and before you could say Jack Robin 
son, our dogies had vamoosed the ranch and were 
running in half a dozen different directions. We 
rounded them up the best we could in the dark, 
and then I took a couple of men and came back 
down the trail about twenty miles to catch any 
drift when day dawned. But you see there s no 
thing like being lucky and having good neighbors, 
cattle caught, fresh horses, and a warm break 
fast all waiting for you. I m such a lucky dog, 
it s a wonder some one did n t steal me when I was 
little. I can t help it, but some day I 11 marry a 
banker s daughter, or fall heir to a ranch as big as 
old McCulloch County.&quot; 

Before meeting us, Straw had confided to our 
foreman that he could assign no other plausible 
excuse for the stampede than that it was the work 
of cattle rustlers. He claimed to know the coun 
try along the Colorado, and unless it had changed 
recently, those hills to the westward harbored a 
good many of the worst rustlers in the State. He 
admitted it might have been wolves chasing the 
range cattle, but thought it had the earmarks of 
being done by human wolves. He maintained that 


THE COLORADO 87 

few herds had ever passed that river without loss of 
cattle, unless the rustlers were too busy elsewhere 
to give the passing herd their attention. Straw had 
ordered his herd to drop back down the trail about 
ten miles from their camp of the night previous, 
and about noon the two herds met on a branch of 
Brady Creek. By that time our herd had nearly 
three hundred head of the Ellison cattle, so we 
held it up and cut theirs out. Straw urged our 
foreman, whatever he did, not to make camp in the 
Colorado bottoms or anywhere near the river, if he 
did n t want a repetition of his experience. After 
starting our herd in the afternoon, about half a 
dozen of us turned back and lent a hand in count 
ing Straw s herd, which proved to be over a hun 
dred head short, and nearly half his outfit were still 
out hunting cattle. Acting on Straw s advice, we 
camped that night some five or six miles back 
from the river on the last divide. From the time 
the second guard went on until the third was re 
lieved, we took the precaution of keeping a scout 
outriding from a half to three quarters of a mile 
distant from the herd, Flood and Honeyman serv 
ing in that capacity. Every precaution was taken 
to prevent a surprise ; and in case anything did 
happen, our night horses tied to the wagon wheels 
stood ready saddled and bridled for any emergency. 
But the night passed without incident. 

An hour or two after the herd had started the 
next morning, four well mounted, strange men 


88 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

rode up from the westward, and representing them- 
selves as trail cutters, asked for our foreman. 
Flood met them, in his usual quiet manner, and 
after admitting that we had been troubled more or 
less with range cattle, assured our callers that if 
there was anything in the herd in the brands they 
represented, he would gladly hold it up and give 
them every opportunity to cut their cattle out. 
As he was anxious to cross the river before noon, 
he invited the visitors to stay for dinner, assuring 
them that before starting the herd in the after 
noon, he would throw the cattle together for their 
inspection. Flood made himself very agreeable, 
inquiring into cattle and range matters in general 
as well as the stage of water in the river ahead. 
The spokesman of the trail cutters met Flood s in 
vitation to dinner with excuses about the press 
ing demands on his time, and urged, if it did not 
seriously interfere with our plans, that he be al 
lowed to inspect the herd before crossing the river. 
His reasons seemed trivial and our foreman was 
not convinced. 

&quot;You see, gentlemen,&quot; he said, &quot;in handling 
these southern cattle, we must take advantage of 
occasions. We have timed our morning s drive so 
as to reach the river during the warmest hour of 
the day, or as near noon as possible. You can 
hardly imagine what a difference there is, in fording 
this herd, between a cool, cloudy day and a clear, 
Lot one. You see the herd is strung out nearly a 


THE COLORADO 89 

mile in length now, and to hold them up and waste 
an hour or more for your inspection would seriously 
disturb our plans. And then our wagon and remuda 
have gone on with orders to noon at the first good 
camp beyond the river. I perfectly understand 
your reasons, and you equally understand mine ; 
but I will send a man or two back to help you re- 
cross any cattle you may find in our herd. Now, 
if a couple of you gentlemen will ride around on 
the far side with me, and the others will ride up 
near the lead, we will trail the cattle across when 
we reach the river without cutting the herd into 
blocks.&quot; 

Flood s affability, coupled with the fact that the 
lead cattle were nearly up to the river, won his 
point. Our visitors could only yield, and rode 
forward with our lead swing men to assist in 
forcing the lead cattle into the river. It was swift 
water, but otherwise an easy crossing, and we al 
lowed the herd, after coming out on the farther 
side, to spread out and graze forward at its plea 
sure. The wagon and saddle stock were in sight 
about a mile ahead, and leaving two men on herd 
to drift the cattle in the right direction, the rest 
of us rode leisurely on to the wagon, where din 
ner was waiting. Flood treated our callers with 
marked courtesy during dinner, and casually in 
quired if any of their number had seen any cattle 
that day or the day previous in the Ellison road 
brand. They had not, they said, explaining that 


90 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

their range lay on both sides of the Concho, and 
that during the trail season they kept all their cattle 
between that river and the main Colorado. Their 
work had kept them on their own range recently, 
except when trail herds were passing and needed to 
be looked through for strays. It sounded as though 
our trail cutters could also use diplomacy on oc 
casion. 

When dinner was over and we had caught horses 
for the afternoon and were ready to mount, Flood 
asked our guests for their credentials as duly 
authorized trail cutters. They replied that they had 
none, but offered in explanation the statement that 
they were merely cutting in the interest of the im 
mediate locality, which required no written authority. 

Then the previous affability of our foreman 
turned to iron. &quot; Well, men,&quot; said he, &quot; if you have 
no authority to cut this trail, then you don t cut this 
herd. I must have inspection papers before I can 
move a brand out of the county in which it is bred, 
and I 11 certainly let no other man, local or duly 
appointed, cut an animal out of this herd without 
written and certified authority. You know that 
without being told, or ought to. I respect the 
rights of every man posted on a trail to cut it. If 
you want to see my inspection papers, you have a 
right to demand them, and in turn I demand of you 
your credentials, showing who you work for and 
the list of brands you represent ; otherwise no 
harm s done ; nor do you cut any herd that I m 
driving.&quot; 


THE COLORADO 91 

&quot; Well,&quot; said one of the men, &quot; I saw a couple 
of head in my own individual brand as we rode up 
the herd. I d like to see the man who says that I 
have n t the right to claim my own brand, anywhere 
I find it.&quot; 

&quot; If there s anything in our herd in your indi 
vidual brand,&quot; said Flood, &quot; all you have to do is to 
give me the brand, and I 11 cut it for you. What s 
your brand ? &quot; 

&quot; The Window Sash. &quot; 

&quot; Have any of you boys seen such a brand in our 
herd ? &quot; inquired Flood, turning to us as we all 
stood by our horses ready to start. 

&quot;I didn t recognize it by that name,&quot; replied 
Quince Forrest, who rode in the swing on the 
branded side of the cattle and belonged to the last 
guard, &quot; but I remember seeing such a brand, 
though I would have given it a different name. 
Yes, come to think, I m sure I saw it, and I 11 tell 
you where: yesterday morning when I rode out to 
throw those drifting cattle away from our herd, I 
saw that brand among the Ellison cattle which had 
stampeded the night before. When Straw s outfit 
cut theirs out yesterday, they must have left the 
Window Sash cattle with us ; those were the range 
cattle which stampeded his herd. It looked to me 
a little blotched, but if I d been called on to name 
it, I d called it a thief s brand. If these gentle 
men claim them, though, it 11 only take a minute 
to cut them out.&quot; 


92 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

&quot; This outfit need n t get personal and fling out 
their insults,&quot; retorted the claimant of the &quot; Window 
Sash &quot; brand, &quot; for I 11 claim my own if there were 
a hundred of you. And you can depend that any 
animal I claim, I 11 take, if I have to go back to 
the ranch and bring twenty men to help me do it.&quot; 

&quot; You won t need any help to get all that s com 
ing to you,&quot; replied our foreman, as he mounted 
his horse. &quot; Let s throw the herd together, boys, 
and cut these Window Sash cattle out. We don t 
want any cattle in our herd that stampede on an 
open range at midnight ; they must certainly be 
terrible wild,&quot; 

As we rode out together, our trail cutters dropped 
behind and kept a respectable distance from the 
herd while we threw the cattle together. When 
the herd had closed to the required compactness, 
Flood called our trail cutters up and said, &quot; Now, 
men, each one of you can take one of my outfit 
with you and inspect this herd to your satisfaction. 
If you see anything there you claim, we 11 cut it 
out for you, but don t attempt to cut anything your 
selves.&quot; 

We rode in by pairs, a man of ours with each 
stranger, and after riding leisurely through the 
herd for half an hour, cut out three head in the 
blotched brand called the &quot; Window Sash.&quot; Before 
leaving the herd, one of the strangers laid claim to 
a red cow, but Fox Quarternight refused to cut the 
animal. 


THE COLORADO 93 

When the pair rode out the stranger accosted 
Flood. &quot; I notice a cow of mine in there,&quot; said he, 
14 not in your road brand, which I claim. Your 
man here refuses to cut her for me, so I appeal to 
you.&quot; 

&quot; What s her brand, Fox ? &quot; asked Flood. 

&quot; She s a Q cow, but the colonel here thinks it s 
an O. I happen to know the cow and the brand 
both ; she came into the herd four hundred miles 
south of here while we were watering the herd in 
the Nueces River. The c Q is a little dim, but it s 
plenty plain to hold her for the present.&quot; 

&quot; If she s a * Q cow I have no claim on her,&quot; 
protested the stranger, &quot; but if the brand is an O, 
then I claim her as a stray from our range, and I 
don t care if she came into your herd when you 
were watering in the San Fernando River in Old 
Mexico, I 11 claim her just the same. I m going 
to ask you to throw her.&quot; 

&quot; I 11 throw her for you,&quot; coolly replied Fox, 
&quot; and bet you my saddle and six-shooter on the side 
that it is n t an 4 O, and even if it was, you and all 
the thieves on the Concho can t take her. I know 
a few of the simple principles of rustling myself. 
Do you want her thrown ? &quot; 

&quot; That s what I asked for.&quot; 

&quot; Throw her, then,&quot; said Flood, &quot; and don t let s 
parley.&quot; 

Fox rode back into the herd, and after some little 
delay, located the cow and worked her out to the 


94 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

edge of the cattle. Dropping his rope, he cut her 
out clear of the herd, and as she circled around in 
an endeavor to reenter, he rode close and made an 
easy cast of the rope about her horns. As he threw 
his horse back to check the cow, I rode to his as 
sistance, my rope in hand, and as the cow turned 
ends, I heeled her. A number of the outfit rode 
up and dismounted, and one of the boys taking her 
by the tail, we threw the animal as humanely as 
possible. In order to get at the brand, which was 
on the side, we turned the cow over, when Flood 
took out his knife and cut the hair away, leaving 
the brand easily traceable. 

&quot; What is she, Jim ? &quot; inquired Fox, as he sat 
his horse holding the rope taut. 

&quot; I 11 let this man who claims her answer that 
question,&quot; replied Flood, as her claimant critically 
examined the brand to his satisfaction. 

&quot; I claim her as an O cow,&quot; said the stranger, 
facing Flood. 

&quot; Well, you claim more than you 11 ever get,&quot; 
replied our foreman. &quot; Turn her loose, boys.&quot; 

The cow was freed and turned back into the 
herd, but the claimant tried to argue the matter 
with Flood, claiming the branding iron had simply 
slipped, giving it the appearance of a &quot; Q &quot; instead 
of an &quot; O &quot; as it was intended to be. Our foreman 
paid little attention to the stranger, but when his 
persistence became annoying checked his argument 
by saying, 


THE COLORADO 95 

&quot; My Christian friend, there s no use arguing 
this matter. You asked to have the cow thrown, 
and we threw her. You might as well try to tell 
me that the cow is white as to claim her in any 
other brand than a Q. You may read brands as 
well as I do, but you re wasting time arguing 
against the facts. You d better take your Win 
dow Sash cattle and ride on, for you ve cut all 
you re going to cut here to-day. But before you 
go, for fear I may never see you again, I 11 take 
this occasion to say that I think you re common 
cow thieves.&quot; 

By his straight talk, our foreman stood several 
inches higher in our estimation as we sat our 
horses, grinning at the discomfiture of the trail 
cutters, while a dozen six-shooters slouched lan 
guidly at our hips to give emphasis to his words. 

&quot; Before going, I 11 take this occasion to say to 
you that you will see me again,&quot; replied the leader, 
riding up and confronting Flood. &quot; You have n t 
got near enough men to bluff me. As to calling 
me a cow thief, that s altogether too common a 
name to offend any one ; and from what I can 
gather, the name would n t miss you or your outfit 
over a thousand miles. Now in taking my leave, 
I want to tell you that you 11 see me before another 
day passes, and what s more, I 11 bring an outfit 
with me and we 11 cut your herd clean to your road 
brand, if for no better reasons, just to learn you 
not to be so insolent.&quot; 


96 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

After hanging up this threat, Flood said to him 
as he turned to ride away, &quot; Well, now, my young 
friend, you re bargaining for a whole lot of fun. 
I notice you carry a gun and quite naturally sup 
pose you shoot a little as occasion requires. Sup 
pose when you and your outfit come back, you come 
a-shooting, so we 11 know who you are ; for I 11 
promise you there s liable to be some powder burnt 
when you cut this herd.&quot; 

Amid jeers of derision from our outfit, the trail 
cutters drove off their three lonely &quot; Window Sash &quot; 
cattle. We had gained the point we wanted, and 
now in case of any trouble, during inspection or at 
night, we had the river behind us to catch our 
herd. We paid little attention to the threat of 
our disappointed callers, but several times Straw s 
remarks as to the character of the residents of those 
hills to the westward recurred to my mind. I was 
young, but knew enough, instead of asking foolish 
questions, to keep mum, though my eyes and ears 
drank in everything. Before we had been on the 
trail over an hour, we met two men riding down 
the trail towards the river. Meeting us, they turned 
and rode along with our foreman, some distance 
apart from the herd, for nearly an hour, and cu 
riosity ran freely among us boys around the herd 
as to who they might be. Finally Flood rode for 
ward to the point men and gave the order to throw 
off the trail and make a short drive that afternoon. 
Then in company with the two strangers, he rode 


THE COLORADO 97 

forward to overtake our wagon, and we saw nothing 
more of him until we reached camp that evening. 
This much, however, our point man was able to get 
from our foreman : that the two men were mem 
bers of a detachment of Eangers who had been sent 
as a result of information given by the first herd 
over the trail that year. This herd, which had 
passed some twenty days ahead of us, had met with 
a stampede below the river, and on reaching Abi 
lene had reported the presence of rustlers preying 
on through herds at the crossing of the Colorado. 

On reaching camp that evening with the herd, 
we found ten of the Rangers as our guests for 
the night. The detachment was under a corporal 
named Joe Hames, who had detailed the two men 
we had met during the afternoon to scout this cross 
ing. Upon the information afforded by our fore 
man about the would-be trail cutters, these scouts, 
accompanied by Flood, had turned back to advise 
the Ranger squad, encamped in a secluded spot 
about ten miles northeast of the Colorado crossing. 
They had only arrived late the day before, and this 
was their first meeting with any trail herd to secure 
any definite information. 

Hames at once assumed charge of the herd, 
Flood gladly rendering every assistance possible. 
We night herded as usual, but during the two 
middle guards, Hames sent out four of his Rangers 
to scout the immediate outlying country, though, 
as we expected, they met with no adventure. At 


98 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

daybreak the Rangers threw their packs into our 
wagon and their loose stock into our remuda, and 
riding up the trail a mile or more, left us, keeping 
well out of sight. We were all hopeful now that 
the trail cutters of the day before would make good 
their word and return. In this hope we killed time 
for several hours that morning, grazing the cattle 
and holding the wagon in the rear. Sending the 
wagon ahead of the herd had been agreed on as 
the signal between our foreman and the Ranger 
corporal, at first sight of any posse behind us. We 
were beginning to despair of their coming, when 
a dust cloud appeared several miles back down the 
trail. We at once hurried the wagon and remuda 
ahead to warn the Rangers, and allowed the cattle 
to string out nearly a mile in length. 

A fortunate rise in the trail gave us a glimpse 
of the cavalcade in our rear, which was entirely 
too large to be any portion of Straw s outfit ; and 
shortly we were overtaken by our trail cutters of the 
day before, now increased to twenty-two mounted 
men. Flood was intentionally in the lead of the 
herd, and the entire outfit galloped forward to stop 
the cattle. When they had nearly reached the lead, 
Flood turned back and met the rustlers. 

&quot; Well, I m as good as my word,&quot; said the leader, 
&quot; and I m here to trim your herd as I promised you 
I would. Throw off and hold up your cattle, or I 11 
do it for you.&quot; 

Several of our outfit rode up at this juncture in 


THE COLORADO 99 

time to hear Flood s reply : &quot; If you think you re 
equal to the occasion, hold them up yourself. If 
I had as big an outfit as you have, I would n t ask 
any man to help me. I want to watch a Colorado 
River outfit work a herd, I might learn some 
thing. My outfit will take a rest, or perhaps hold 
the cut or otherwise clerk for you. But be care 
ful and don t claim anything that you are not cer 
tain is your own, for I reserve the right to look 
over your cut before you drive it away.&quot; 

The rustlers rode in a body to the lead, and when 
they had thrown the herd off the trail, about half 
of them rode back and drifted forward the rear 
cattle. Flood called our outfit to one side and gave 
us our instructions, the herd being entirely turned 
over to the rustlers. After they began cutting, 
we rode around and pretended to assist in holding 
the cut as the strays in our herd were being cut 
out. When the red &quot; Q &quot; cow came out, Fox cut 
her back, which nearly precipitated a row, for she 
was promptly recut to the strays by the man who 
claimed her the day before. Not a man of us even 
cast a glance up the trail, or in the direction of the 
Rangers ; but when the work was over, Flood pro 
tested with the leader of the rustlers over some five 
or six head of dim-branded cattle which actually 
belonged to our herd. But he was exultant and 
would listen to no protests, and attempted to drive 
away the cut, now numbering nearly fifty head. 
Then we rode across their front and stopped them. 


100 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

In the parley which ensued, harsh words were pass 
ing, when one of our outfit blurted out in well 
feigned surprise, 

&quot; Hello, who s that, coming over there ? &quot; 

A squad of men were riding leisurely through 
our abandoned herd, coming over to where the 
two outfits were disputing. 

&quot; What s the trouble here, gents ? &quot; inquired 
Hames as he rode up. 

&quot; Who are you and what might be your business, 
may I ask ? &quot; inquired the leader of the rustlers. 

&quot; Personally I m nobody, but officially I m Cor 
poral in Company B, Texas Rangers well, if 
there is n t smiling Ed Winters, the biggest cattle 
thief ever born in Medina County. Why, I ve got 
papers for you ; for altering the brands on over 
fifty head of C cattle into a G brand. Come 
here, dear, and give me that gun of yours. Come 
on, and no false moves or funny work or I 11 shoot 
the white out of your eye. Surround this layout, 
lads, and let s examine them more closely.&quot; 

At this command, every man in our outfit whipped 
out his six-shooter, the Rangers leveled their car 
bines on the rustlers, and in less than a minute s 
time they were disarmed and as crestfallen a group 
of men as ever walked into a trap of their own set 
ting. Hames got out a &quot; black book,&quot; and after 
looking the crowd over concluded to hold the entire 
covey, as the descriptions of the &quot; wanted &quot; seemed 
to include most of them. Some of the rustlers 


THE COLORADO 101 

attempted to explain their presence, but Hames 
decided to hold the entire party, &quot; just to learn 
them to be more careful of their company the next 
time,&quot; as he put it. 

The cut had drifted away into the herd again 
during the arrest, and about half our outfit took 
the cattle on to where the wagon camped for noon. 
McCann had anticipated an extra crowd for din 
ner and was prepared for the emergency. When 
dinner was over and the Rangers had packed and 
were ready to leave, Hames said to Flood, 

&quot; Well, Flood, I m powerful glad I met you and 
your outfit. This has been one of the biggest 
round-ups for me in a long time. You don t know 
how proud I am over this bunch of beauties. Why, 
there s liable to be enough rewards out for this 
crowd to buy my girl a new pair of shoes. And 
say, when your wagon comes into Abilene, if I 
ain t there, just drive around to the sheriff s office 
and leave those captured guns. I m sorry to load 
your wagon down that way, but I m short on 
pack mules and it will be a great favor to me ; 
besides, these fellows are not liable to need any 
guns for some little time. I like your company 
and your chuck, Flood, but you see how it is ; the 
best of friends must part; and then I have an 
invitation to take dinner in Abilene by to-morrow 
noon, so I must be a-riding. Adios, everybody.&quot; 


CHAPTER vrn 

ON THE BRAZOS AND WICHITA 

As we neared Buffalo Gap a few days later, a 
deputy sheriff of Taylor County, who resided at 
the Gap, rode out and met us. He brought an 
urgent request from Hames to Flood to appear as 
a witness against the rustlers, who were to be given 
a preliminary trial at Abilene the following day. 
Much as he regretted to leave the herd for even a 
single night, our foreman finally consented to go. 
To further his convenience we made a Ions even- 

O 

ing drive, camping for the night well above Buffalo 
Gap, which at that time was little more than a 
landmark on the trail. The next day we made an 
easy drive and passed Abilene early in the after 
noon, where Flood rejoined us, but refused any one 
permission to go into town, with the exception of 
McCann with the wagon, which was a matter of 
necessity. It was probably for the best, for this 
cow town had the reputation of setting a pace that 
left the wayfarer purseless and breathless, to say 
nothing about headaches. Though our foreman 
had not reached those mature years in life when the 
pleasures and frivolities of dissipation no longer 
allure, yet it was but natural that he should wish 


ON THE BEAZOS AND WICHITA 103 

to keep his men from the temptation of the cup 
that cheers and the wiles of the siren. But when 
the wagon returned that evening, it was evident 
that our foreman was human, for with a box of 
cigars which were promised us were several bottles 
of Old Crow. 

After crossing the Clear Fork of the Brazos a 
few days later, we entered a well-watered, open 
country, through which the herd made splendid 
progress. At Abilene, we were surprised to learn 
that our herd was the twentieth that had passed 
that point. The weather so far on our trip had been 
exceptionally good ; only a few showers had fallen, 
and those during the daytime. But we were now 
nearing a country in which rain was more fre 
quent, and the swollen condition of several small 
streams which have their headwaters in the Staked 
Plains was an intimation to us of recent rains to 
the westward of our route. Before reaching the 
main Brazos, we passed two other herds of year 
ling cattle, and were warned of the impassable 
condition of that river for the past week. Nothing 
daunted, we made our usual drive ; and when the 
herd camped that night, Flood, after scouting 
ahead to the river, returned with the word that 
the Brazos had been unfordable for over a week, 
five herds being waterbound. 

As we were then nearly twenty miles south of 
the river, the next morning we threw off the trail 
and turned the herd to the northeast, hoping to 


104 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

strike the Brazos a few miles above Round Timber 
ferry. Once the herd was started and their course 
for the day outlined to our point men by definite 
landmarks, Flood and Quince Forrest set out to 
locate the ferry and look up a crossing. Had it 
not been for our wagon, we would have kept the 
trail, but as there was no ferry on the Brazos at 
the crossing of the western trail, it was a question 
either of waiting or of making this detour. Then 
all the grazing for several miles about the crossing 
was already taken by the waterbound herds, and 
to crowd up and trespass on range already occupied 
would have been a violation of an unwritten law. 
Again, no herd took kindly to another attempting 
to pass them when in traveling condition the herds 
were on an equality. Our foreman had conceived 
the scheme of getting past these waterbound herds, 
if possible, which would give us a clear field until 
the next large watercourse was reached. 

Flood and Forrest returned during the noon hour, 
the former having found, by swimming, a passable 
ford near the mouth of Monday Creek, while the 
latter reported the ferry in &quot; apple-pie order.&quot; No 
sooner, then, was dinner over than the wagon set 
out for the ferry under Forrest as pilot, though we 
were to return to the herd once the ferry was 
sighted. The mouth of Monday Creek was not 
over ten miles below the regular trail crossing on 
the Brazos, and much nearer our noon camp than 
the regular one ; but the wagon was compelled to 


ON THE BRAZOS AND WICHITA 105 

make a direct elbow, first turning to the eastward, 
then doubling back after the river was crossed. 
We held the cattle off water during the day, so 
as to have them thirsty when they reached the 
river. Flood had swum it during the morning, and 
warned us to be prepared for fifty or sixty yards 
of swimming water in crossing. When within a 
mile, we held up the herd and changed horses, 
every man picking out one with a tested ability to 
swim. Those of us who were expected to take the 
water as the herd entered the river divested our 
selves of boots and clothing, which we intrusted 
to riders in the rear. The approach to crossing 
was gradual, but the opposite bank was abrupt, 
with only a narrow passageway leading out from 
the channel. As the current was certain to carry 
the swimming cattle downstream, we must, to make 
due allowance, take the water nearly a hundred 
yards above the outlet on the other shore. All 
this was planned out in advance by our foreman, 
who now took the position of point man on the 
right hand or down the riverside ; and with our 
saddle horses in the immediate lead, we breasted 
the angry Brazos. 

The water was shallow as we entered, and we 
reached nearly the middle of the river before 
the loose saddle horses struck swimming water. 
Honeyman was on their lee, and with the cattle 
crowding in their rear, there was no alternative 
but to swim. A loose horse swims easily, how- 


106 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

ever, and our remuda readily faced the current, 
though it was swift enough to carry them below 
the passageway on the opposite side. By this 
time the lead cattle were adrift, and half a dozen 
of us were on their lower side, for the footing 
under the cutbank was narrow, and should the 
cattle become congested on landing, some were 
likely to drown. For a quarter of an hour it re 
quired cool heads to keep the trail of cattle moving 
into the water and the passageway clear on the 
opposite landing. While they were crossing, the 
herd represented a large letter &quot; U,&quot; caused by 
the force of the current drifting the cattle down 
stream, or until a foothold was secured on the 
farther side. Those of us fortunate enough to 
have good swimming horses swam the river a 
dozen times, and then after the herd was safely 
over, swam back to get our clothing. It was a 
thrilling experience to us younger lads of the out 
fit, and rather attractive ; but the elder and more 
experienced men always dreaded swimming rivers. 
Their reasons were made clear enough when, a 
fortnight later, we crossed Ked River, where a 
newly made grave was pointed out to us, amongst 
others of men who had lost their lives while swim 
ming cattle^ 

Once the bulk of the cattle were safely over, with 
no danger of congestion on the farther bank, they 
were allowed to loiter along under the cutbank 
and drink to their hearts content. Quite a num- 


ON THE BRAZOS AND WICHITA 107 

ber strayed above the passageway, and in order to 
rout them out, Bob Blades, Moss Strayhorn, and I 
rode out through the outlet and up the river, where 
we found some of them in a passageway down a 
dry arroyo. The steers had found a soft, damp 
place in the bank, and were so busy horning the 
waxy, red mud, that they hardly noticed our ap 
proach until we were within a rod of them. We 
halted our horses and watched their antics. The 
kneeling cattle were cutting the bank viciously 
with their horns and matting their heads with the 
red mud, but on discovering our presence, they 
curved their tails and stampeded out as playfully 
as young lambs on a hillside. 

&quot; Can you sabe where the fun comes in to a steer, 
to get down on his knees in the mud and dirt, and 
horn the bank and muss up his curls and enjoy it 
like that ? &quot; inquired Strayhorn of Blades and me. 

&quot; Because it s healthy and funny besides,&quot; replied 
Bob, giving me a cautious wink. &quot; Did you never 
hear of people taking mud baths ? You ve seen 
dogs eat grass, have n t you ? Well, it s something 
on the same order. Now, if I was a student of the 
nature of animals, like you are, I d get off my 
horse and imagine I had horns, and scar and other 
wise mangle that mud bank shamefully. I 11 hold 
your horse if you want to try it some of the 
secrets of the humor of cattle might be revealed 
to you.&quot; 

The banter, though given in jest, was too much 


108 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

for this member of a craft that can always be 
depended on to do foolish things ; and when we 
rejoined the outfit, Strayhorn presented a sight no 
sane man save a member of our tribe ever would 
have conceived of. 

The herd had scattered over several thousand 
acres after leaving the river, grazing freely, and so 
remained during the rest of the evening. Forrest 
changed horses and set out down the river to find 
the wagon and pilot it in, for with the long distance 
that McCann had to cover, it was a question if he 
would reach us before dark. Flood selected a bed 
ground and camp about a mile out from the river, 
and those of the outfit not on herd dragged up 
an abundance of wood for the night, and built a 
roaring fire as a beacon to our absent commissary. 
Darkness soon settled over camp, and the prospect 
of a supperless night was confronting us ; the first 
guard had taken the herd, and yet there was no 
sign of the wagon. Several of us youngsters then 
mounted our night horses and rode down the river 
a mile or over in the hope of meeting McCann. 
&quot;We came to a steep bank, caused by the shifting 
of the first bottom of the river across to the north 
bank, rode up this bluff some little distance, dis 
mounted, and fired several shots; then with our ears 
to the earth patiently awaited a response. It did 
not come, and we rode back again. &quot;Hell s fire and 
little fishes ! &quot; said Joe Stallings, as we clambered 
into our saddles to return, &quot; it s not supper or 


ON THE BRAZOS AND WICHITA 109 

breakfast that s troubling me, but will we get any 
dinner to-morrow ? That s a more pregnant ques 
tion.&quot; 

It must have been after midnight when I was 
awakened by the braying of mules and the rat 
tle of the wagon, to hear the voices of Forrest and 
McCann, mingled with the rattle of chains as they 
unharnessed, condemning to eternal perdition the 
broken country on the north side of the Brazos, 
between Kound Timber ferry and the mouth of 
Monday Creek. 

&quot; I think that when the Almighty made this 
country on the north side of the Brazos,&quot; said Mc 
Cann the next morning at breakfast, &quot; the Creator 
must have grown careless or else made it out of 
odds and ends. There s just a hundred and one 
of these dry arroyos that you can t see until you 
are right onto them. They would n t bother a man 
on horseback, but with a loaded wagon it s differ 
ent. And I 11 promise you all right now that if 
Forrest had n t come out and piloted me in, you 
might have tightened up your belts for breakfast 
and drank out of cow tracks and smoked cigarettes 
for nourishment. Well, it ll do you good; this 
high living was liable to spoil some of you, but I 
notice that you are all on your feed this morning. 
The black strap? Honeyman, get that molasses 
jug out of the wagon it sits right in front of the 
chuck box. It does me good to see this outfit s 
tastes once more going back to the good old staples 
of life.&quot; 


110 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

We made our usual early start, keeping well out 
from the river on a course almost due northward. 
The next river on our way was the Wichita, still 
several days drive from the mouth of Monday 
Creek. Flood s intention was to parallel the old 
trail until near the river, when, if its stage of water 
was not fordable, we would again seek a lower cross 
ing in the hope of avoiding any waterbound herds 
on that watercourse. The second day out from the 
Brazos it rained heavily during the day and driz 
zled during the entire night. Not a hoof would 
bed down, requiring the guards to be doubled into 
two watches for the night. The next morning, as 
was usual when off the trail, Flood scouted in ad 
vance, and near the middle of the afternoon s drive 
we came into the old trail. The weather in the 
mean time had faired off, which revived life and 
spirit in the outfit, for in trail work there is no 
thing that depresses the spirits of men like falling 
weather. On coming into the trail, we noticed that 
no herds had passed since the rain began. Shortly 
afterward our rear guard was overtaken by a horse 
man who belonged to a mixed herd which was en 
camped some four or five miles below the point 
where we came into the old trail. He reported the 
Wichita as having been unfordable for the past 
week, but at that time falling ; and said that if the 
rain of the past few days had not extended as far 
west as the Staked Plains, the river would be ford- 
able in a day or two. 


ON THE BRAZOS AND WICHITA 111 

Before the stranger left us, Flood returned and 
confirmed tbis information, and reported further 
that there were two herds lying over at the Wichita 
ford expecting to cross the following day. With 
this outlook, we grazed our herd up to within five 
miles of the river and camped for the night, and 
our visitor returned to his outfit with Flood s re 
port of our expectation of crossing on the morrow. 
But with the fair weather and the prospects of an 
easy night, we encamped entirely too close to the 
trail, as we experienced to our sorrow. The graz 
ing was good everywhere, the recent rains having 
washed away the dust, and we should have camped 
farther away. We were all sleepy that night, and 
no sooner was supper over than every mother s son 
of us was in his blankets. We slept so soundly 
that the guards were compelled to dismount when 
calling the relief, and shake the next guards on 
duty out of their slumber and see that they got up, 
for men would unconsciously answer in their sleep. 
The cattle were likewise tired, and slept as will 
ingly as the men. 

About midnight, however, Fox Quartern ight 
dashed into camp, firing his six-shooter and yelling 
like a demon. We tumbled out of our blankets in 
a dazed condition to hear that one of the herds 
camped near the river had stampeded, the heavy 
rumbling of the running herd and the shooting of 
their outfit now being distinctly audible. We lost 
no time getting our horses, and in less than a min- 


112 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

ute were riding for our cattle, which had already 
got up and were timidly listening to the approach 
ing noise. Although we were a good quarter mile 
from the trail, before we could drift our herd to a 
point of safety, the stampeding cattle swept down 
the trail like a cyclone and our herd was absorbed 
into the maelstrom of the onrush like leaves in a 
whirlwind. It was then that our long-legged Mexi 
can steers set us a pace that required a good horse 
to equal, for they easily took the lead, the other 
herd having run between three and four miles be 
fore striking us, and being already well winded. 
The other herd were Central Texas cattle, and 
numbered over thirty-five hundred, but in running 
capacity were never any match for ours. 

Before they had run a mile past our camp, our 
outfit, bunched well together on the left point, made 
the first effort to throw them out and off the trail, 
and try to turn them. But the waves of an angry 
ocean could as easily have been brought under sub 
jection as our terrorized herd during this first mad 
dash. Once we turned a few hundred of the lead 
ers, and about the time we thought success was in 
reach, another contingent of double the number had 
taken the lead ; then we had to abandon what few 
we had, and again ride to the front. When we 
reached the lead, there, within half a mile ahead, 
burned the camp-fire of the herd of mixed cattle 
which had moved up the trail that evening. They 
had had ample warning of impending trouble, just 


ON THE BRAZOS AND WICHITA 113 

as we had ; and before the running cattle reached 
them about half a dozen of their outfit rode to our 
assistance, when we made another effort to turn or 
hold the herds from mixing. None of the outfit 
of the first herd had kept in the lead with us, their 
horses fagging, and when the foreman of this mixed 
herd met us, not knowing that we were as innocent 
of the trouble as himself, he made some slighting 
remarks about our outfit and cattle. But it was no 
time to be sensitive, and with his outfit to help we 
threw our whole weight against the left point a 
second time, but only turned a few hundred ; and 
before we could get into the lead again their camp- 
fire had been passed and their herd of over three 
thousand cattle more were in the run. As cows 
and calves predominated in this mixed herd, our 
own southerners were still leaders in the stampede. 
It is questionable if we would have turned this 
stampede before daybreak, had not the nature of 
the country come to our assistance. Something 
over two miles below the camp of the last herd was 
a deep creek, the banks of which were steep and 
the passages few and narrow. Here we succeeded 
in turning the leaders, and about half the outfit of 
the mixed herd remained, guarding the crossing 
and turning the lagging cattle in the run as they 
came up. With the leaders once turned and no 
chance for the others to take a new lead, we had 
the entire run of cattle turned back within an hour 
and safely render control. The first outfit joined us 


f 


114 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

during the interim, and when day broke we had 
over forty men drifting about ten thousand cattle 
back up the trail. The different outfits were un 
fortunately at loggerheads, no one being willing to 
assume any blame. Flood hunted up the foreman 
of the mixed herd and demanded an apology for 
his remarks on our abrupt meeting with him the 
night before; and while it was granted, it was plain 
that it was begrudged. The first herd disclaimed 
all responsibility, holding that the stampede was 
due to an unavoidable accident, their cattle hav 
ing grown restless during their enforced lay-over. 
The indifferent attitude of their foreman, whose 
name was &quot;Wilson, won the friendly regard of our 
outfit, and before the wagon of the mixed cattle 
was reached, there was a compact, at least tacit, 
between their outfit and ours. Our foreman was 
not blameless, for had we taken the usual pre 
caution and camped at least a mile off the trail, 
which was our custom when in close proximity to 
other herds, we might and probably would have 
missed this mix-up, for our herd was inclined to be 
very tractable. Flood, with all his experience, well 
knew that if stampeded cattle ever got into a 
known trail, they were certain to turn backward 
over their course ; and we were now paying the 
fiddler for lack of proper precaution. 

Within an hour after daybreak, and before the 
cattle had reached the camp of the mixed herd, 
our saddle horses were sighted coming over a slight 


ON THE BRAZOS AND WICHITA 115 

divide about two miles up the trail, and a minute 
later McCann s mules hove in sight, bringing up 
the rear. They had made a start with the first 
dawn, rightly reasoning, as there was no time to 
leave orders on our departure, that it was advisable 
for Mahomet to go to the mountain. Flood compli 
mented our cook and horse wrangler on their fore 
sight, for the wagon was our base of sustenance ; 
and there was little loss of time before Barney 
McCann was calling us to a hastily prepared break 
fast. Flood asked Wilson to bring his outfit to 
our wagon for breakfast, and as fast as they were 
relieved from herd, they also did ample justice to 
McCann s cooking. During breakfast, I remember 
Wilson explaining to Flood what he believed was 
the cause of the stampede. It seems that there 
were a few remaining buffalo ranging north of the 
Wichita, and at night when they came into the 
river to drink they had scented the cattle on the 
south side. The bellowing of buffalo bulls had 
been distinctly heard by his men on night herd for 
several nights past. The foreman stated it as his 
belief that a number of bulls had swum the river 
and had by stealth approached near the sleeping 
cattle, then, on discovering the presence of the 
herders, had themselves stampeded, throwing his 
herd into a panic. 

We had got a change of mounts during the 
breakfast hour, and when all was ready Flood and 
Wilson rode over to the wagon of the mixed herd, 


116 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

the two outfits following, when Flood inquired of 
their foreman, 

&quot; Have you any suggestions to make in the cut 
ting of these herds ? &quot; 

&quot; No suggestions,&quot; was the reply, &quot; but I intend 
to cut mine first and cut them northward on the 
trail.&quot; 

&quot; You intend to cut them northward, you mean, 
provided there are no objections, which I m posi 
tive there will be,&quot; said Flood. &quot; It takes me 
some little time to size a man up, and the more I 
see of you during our brief acquaintance, the more 
I think there s two or three things that you might 
learn to your advantage. I 11 not enumerate them 
now, but when these herds are separated, if you 
insist, it will cost you nothing but the asking for 
my opinion of you. This much you can depend on: 
when the cutting s over, you 11 occupy the same 
position on the trail that you did before this acci 
dent happened. Wilson, here, has nothing but 
jaded horses, and his outfit will hold the herd while 
yours and mine cut their cattle. And instead of 
you cutting north, you can either cut south where 
you belong on the trail or sulk in your camp, your 
own will and pleasure to govern. But if you are a 
cowman, willing to do your part, you 11 have your 
outfit ready to work by the time we throw the cat 
tle together.&quot; 

&quot;Not waiting for any reply, Flood turned away, 
and the double outfit circled around the grazing 


ON THE BRAZOS AND WICHITA 117 

herd and began throwing the sea of cattle into a 
compact body ready to work. Rod Wheat and 
Ash Borrowstone were detailed to hold our cut, 
and the remainder of us, including Honeyman, en 
tered the herd and began cutting. Shortly after 
we had commenced the work, the mixed outfit, find 
ing themselves in a lonesome minority, joined us 
and began cutting out their cattle to the westward. 
When we had worked about half an hour, Flood 
called us out, and with the larger portion of Wil 
son s men, we rode over and drifted the mixed cut 
around to the southward, where they belonged. 
The mixed outfit pretended they meant no harm, 
and were politely informed that if they were sin 
cere, they could show it more plainly. For nearly 
three hours we sent a steady stream of cattle out 
of the main herd into our cut, while our horses 
dripped with sweat. With our advantage in the 
start, as well as that of having the smallest herd, 
we finished our work first. While the mixed outfit 
were finishing their cutting, we changed mounts, 
and then were ready to work the separated herds. 
Wilson took about half his outfit, and after giving 
our herd a trimming, during which he recut about 
twenty, the mixed outfit were given a similar 
chance, and found about half a dozen of their 
brand. These cattle of Wilson s and the other 
herd amongst ours were not to be wondered at, for 
we cut by a liberal rule. Often we would find a 
number of ours on the outside of the main herd, 


118 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

when two men would cut the squad in a bunch, 
and if there was a wrong brand amongst them, it 
was no matter, we knew our herd would have to 
be retrimmed anyhow, and the other outfits might 
be disappointed if they found none of their cattle 
amongst ours. 

The mixed outfit were yet working our herd 
when Wilson s wagon and saddle horses arrived, 
and while they were changing mounts, we cut the 
mixed herd of our brand and picked up a number 
of strays which we had been nursing along, though 
when we first entered the main herd, strays had re 
ceived our attention, being well known to us by 
ranch brands as well as flesh marks. In gathering 
up this very natural flotsam of the trail, we cut no 
thing but what our herd had absorbed in its travels, 
showing due regard to a similar right of the other 
herds. Our work was finished first, and after Wil 
son had recut the mixed herd, we gave his herd one 
more looking over in a farewell parting. Flood 
asked him if he wanted the lead, but Wilson waived 
his right in his open, frank manner, saying, &quot; If I 
had as long-legged cattle as you have, I would n t 
ask no man for the privilege of passing. Why, you 
ought to out-travel horses. I m glad to have met 
you and your outfit, personally, but regret the inci 
dent which has given you so much trouble. As I 
don t expect to go farther than Dodge or Ogalalla 
at the most, you are more than welcome to the lead. 
And if you or any of these rascals in your outfit are 


ON THE BRAZOS AND WICHITA 119 

ever in Cory ell County, hunt up Frank Wilson of 
the Block Bar Ranch, and I 11 promise you a drink 
of milk or something stronger if possible.&quot; 

We crossed the Wichita late that afternoon, there 
being not over fifty feet of swimming water for the 
cattle. Our wagon gave us the only trouble, for 
the load could not well be lightened, and it was an 
imperative necessity to cross it the same day. Once 
the cattle were safely over and a few men left to 
graze them forward, the remainder of the outfit 
collected all the ropes and went back after the 
wagon. As mules are always unreliable in the 
water, Flood concluded to swim them loose. W^e 
lashed the wagon box securely to the gearing with 
ropes, arranged our bedding in the wagon where it 
would be on top, and ran the wagon by hand into 
the water as far as we dared without flooding the 
wagon box. Two men, with guy ropes fore and aft, 
were then left to swim with the wagon in order to 
keep it from toppling over, while the remainder of 
us recrossed to the farther side of the swimming 
channel, and fastened our lariats to two long ropes 
from the end of the tongue. We took a wrap on 
the pommels of our saddles with the loose end, and 
when the word was given our eight horses furnished 
abundant motive power, and the wagon floated 
across, landing high and dry amid the shoutings of 
the outfit. 


CHAPTER IX 
DOAN S CROSSING 

IT was a nice open country between the Wichita 
and Pease rivers. On reaching the latter, we found 
an easy stage of water for crossing, though there 
was every evidence that the river had been on a 
recent rise, the debris of a late freshet littering the 
cutbank, while high-water mark could be easily 
noticed on the trees along the river bottom. Sum 
mer had advanced until the June freshets were to be 
expected, and for the next month we should be for 
tunate if our advance was not checked by floods 
and falling weather. The fortunate stage of the 
Pease encouraged us, however, to hope that possibly 
Red River, two days drive ahead, would be f ordable. 
The day on which we expected to reach it, Flood set 
out early to look up the ford which had then been 
in use but a few years, and which in later days was 
known as Doan s Crossing on Red River. Our fore 
man returned before noon and reported a favorable 
stage of water for the herd, and a new ferry that 
had been established for wagons. With this good 
news, we were determined to put that river behind 
us in as few hours as possible, for it was a common 
occurrence that a river which was f ordable at night 


DOAN S CROSSING 121 

was the reverse by daybreak. McCann was sent 
ahead with the wagon, but we held the saddle 
horses with us to serve as leaders in taking the 
water at the ford. 

The cattle were strung out in trailing manner 
nearly a mile, and on reaching the river near the 
middle of the afternoon, we took the water without 
a halt or even a change of horses. This bound 
ary river on the northern border of Texas was a 
terror to trail drovers, but on our reaching it, it 
had shallowed down, the flow of water following 
several small channels. One of these was swim 
ming, with shallow bars intervening between the 
channels. But the majestic grandeur of the river 
was apparent on every hand, with its red, bluff 
banks, the sediment of its red waters marking 
the timber along its course, while the driftwood, 
lodged in trees and high on the banks, indicated 
what might be expected when she became sportive 
or angry. That she was merciless was evident, for 
although this crossing had been in use only a year 
or two when we forded, yet five graves, one of 
which was less than ten days made, attested her 
disregard for human life. It can safely be asserted 
that at this and lower trail crossings on Ked River, 
the lives of more trail men were lost by drowning 
than on all other rivers together. Just as we were 
nearing the river, an unknown horseman from the 
south overtook our herd. It was evident that he 
belonged to some through herd and was looking out 




122 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

the crossing. He made himself useful by lending 
a hand while our herd was fording, and in a brief 
conversation with Flood, informed him that he 
was one of the hands with a &quot; Running W &quot; herd, 
gave the name of Bill Mann as their foreman, 
the number of cattle they were driving, and re 
ported the herd as due to reach the river the next 
morning. He wasted little time with us, but re- 
crossed the river, returning to his herd, while we 
grazed out four or five miles and camped for the 
night. 

I shall never forget the impression left in my 
mind of that first morning after we crossed Red 
River into the Indian lands. The country was as 
primitive as in the first day of its creation. The 
trail led up a divide between the Salt and North 
forks of Red River. To the eastward of the latter 
stream lay the reservation of the Apaches, Kiowas, 
and Comanches, the latter having been a terror 
to the inhabitants of western Texas. They were a 
warlike tribe, as the records of the Texas Rangers 
and government troops will verify, but their last 
effective dressing down was given them in a fight 
at Adobe Walls by a party of buffalo hunters whom 
they hoped to surprise. As we wormed our way up 
this narrow divide, there was revealed to us a pano 
rama of green-swarded plain and timber-fringed 
watercourse, with not a visible evidence that it had 
ever been invaded by civilized man, save cattlemen 
with their herds. Antelope came up in bands and 


DOAN S CROSSING 123 

gratified their curiosity as to who these invaders 
might be, while old solitary buffalo bulls turned 
tail at our approach and lumbered away to points 
of safety. Very few herds had ever passed over 
this route, but buffalo trails leading downstream, 
deep worn by generations of travel, were to be seen 
by hundreds on every hand. We were not there 
for a change of scenery or for our health, so we may 
have overlooked some of the beauties of the land 
scape. But we had a keen eye for the things of 
our craft. We could see almost back to the river, 
and several times that morning noticed clouds of 
dust on the horizon. Flood noticed them first. 
After some little time the dust clouds arose clear 
and distinct, and we were satisfied that the &quot; Run 
ning W &quot; herd had forded and were behind us, not 
more than ten or twelve miles away. 

At dinner that noon, Flood said he had a notion 
to go back and pay Mann a visit. &quot; Why, I ve 
not seen Little-foot Bill Mann,&quot; said our fore 
man, as he helped himself to a third piece of &quot; fried 
chicken&quot; (bacon), &quot; since we separated two years 
ago up at Ogalalla on the Platte. I d just like 
the best in the world to drop back and sleep in 
his blankets one night and complain of his chuck. 
Then I d like to tell him how we had passed them, 
starting ten days drive farther south. He must 
have been amongst those herds laying over on the 
Brazos.&quot; 

&quot; Why don t you go, then ? &quot; said Fox Quarter- 


124 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

night. &quot; Half the outfit could hold the cattle now 
with the grass and water we re in at present.&quot; 

&quot; I ? 11 go you one for luck,&quot; said our foreman. 
&quot; Wrangler, rustle in your horses the minute 
you re through eating. I m going visiting.&quot; 

We all knew what horse he would ride, and when 
he dropped his rope on &quot; Alazanito,&quot; he had not only 
picked his own mount of twelve, but the top horse 
of the entire remuda, a chestnut sorrel, fifteen 
hands and an inch in height, that drew his first 
breath on the prairies of Texas. No man who sat 
him once could ever forget him. Now, when the 
trail is a lost occupation, and reverie and reminis 
cence carry the mind back to that day, there are 
friends and faces that may be forgotten, but there 
are horses that never will be. There were emer 
gencies in which the horse was everything, his rider 
merely the accessory. But together, man and horse, 
they were the force that made it possible to move 
the millions of cattle which passed up and over the 
various trails of the West. 

When we had caught our horses for the afternoon, 
and Flood had saddled and was ready to start, he 
said to us, &quot; You fellows just mosey along up the 
trail. I 11 not be gone long, but when I get back 
I shall expect to find everything running smooth. 
An outfit that can t run itself without a boss ought 
to stay at home and do the milking. So long, fel 
lows ! &quot; 

The country was well watered, and when we 


DOAN S CROSSING 125 

rounded the cattle into the bed ground that night, 
they were actually suffering from stomachs gorged 
with grass and water. They went down and to 
sleep like tired children ; one man could have held 
them that night. We all felt good, and McCann 
got up an extra spread for supper. We even had 
dried apples for dessert. McCann had talked the 
storekeeper at Doan s, where we got our last sup 
plies, out of some extras as a pelon. Among them 
was a can of jam. He sprung this on us as a sur- r 
prise. Bob Blades toyed with the empty can in 
mingled admiration and disgust over a picture on 
the paper label. It was a supper scene, every fig 
ure wearing full dress. &quot; Now, that s General 
Grant,&quot; said he, pointing with his finger, &quot; and 
this is Tom Ochiltree. I can t quite make out this 
other duck, but I reckon he s some big auger a 
senator or governor, maybe. Them old girls have 
got their gall with them. That style of dress is 
what you call lo and behold. The whole passei 
ought to be ashamed. And they seem to be enjoy 
ing themselves, too.&quot; 

Though it was a lovely summer night, we had a 
fire, and supper over, the conversation ranged wide 
and free. As the wagon on the trail is home, nat 
urally the fire is the hearthstone, so we gathered 
and lounged around it. 

&quot; The only way to enjoy such a fine night as 
this,&quot; remarked Ash, &quot; is to sit up smoking until 
you fall asleep with your boots on. Between too 


126 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

much sleep and just enough, there s a happy 
medium which suits me.&quot; 

&quot; Officer,&quot; inquired Wyatt Roundtree, trailing 
into the conversation very innocently, &quot; why is it 
that people who live up among those Yankees 
always say be the remainder of their lives ? &quot; 

&quot; What s the matter with the word ? &quot; countered 
Officer. 

&quot; Oh, nothing, I reckon, only it sounds a little 
odd, and there s a tale to it.&quot; 

&quot; A story, you mean,&quot; said Officer, reprovingly. 

&quot; Well, I 11 tell it to you,&quot; said Roundtree, &quot; and 
then you can call it to suit yourself. It was out in 
New Mexico where this happened. There was a 
fellow drifted into the ranch where I was working, 
dead broke. To make matters worse, he could do 
nothing ; he would n t fit anywhere. Still, he was 
a nice fellow and we all liked him. Must have 
had a good education, for he had good letters from 
people up North. He had worked in stores and 
had once clerked in a bank, at least the letters said 
so. Well, we put up a job to get him a place in 
a little town out on the railroad. You all knort 
how clannish Kentuckians are. Let two meet who 
never saw each other before, and inside of half an 
hour they 11 be chewing tobacco from the same plug 
and trying to loan each other money.&quot; 

&quot; That s just like them,&quot; interposed Fox Quar- 
ternight. 

&quot; Well, there was an old man lived in this town, 


DOAN S CROSSING 127 

who was the genuine blend of bluegrass and Bour 
bon. If another Kentuckian came within twenty 
miles of him, and he found it out, he d hunt him 
up and they d hold a two-handed reunion. We 
put up the job that this young man should play 
that he was a Kentuckian, hoping that the old man 
would take him to his bosom and give him some 
thing to do. So we took him into town one day, 
coached and fully posted how to act and play his 
part. We met the old man in front of his place 
of business, and, after the usual comment on the 
news over our way, weather, and other small talk, 
we were on the point of passing on, when one of 
our own crowd turned back and inquired, * Uncle 
Henry, have you met the young Kentuckian who s 
in the country ? 

&quot; No, said the old man, brightening with in 
terest, who is he and where is he ? 

&quot; He s in town somewhere, volunteered one of 
the boys. We pretended to survey the street from 
where we stood, when one of the boys blurted out, 
Yonder he stands now. That fellow in front of 
the drug store over there, with the hard-boiled hat 
on. 

&quot; The old man started for him, angling across 
the street, in disregard of sidewalks. We watched 
the meeting, thinking it was working all right. 
We were mistaken. We saw them shake hands, 
when the old man turned and walked away very 
haughtily. Something had gone wrong. He took 


128 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

the sidewalk on his return, and when he came near 
enough to us, we could see that he was angry and 
on the prod. When he came near enough to speak, 
he said, You think you re smart, don t you ? 
He s a Kentuckian, is he ? Hell s full of such 
Kentuckians ! And as he passed beyond hearing 
he was muttering imprecations on us. The young 
fellow joined us a minute later with the question, 
What kind of a crank is that you ran me up 
against ? 

&quot; 4 He s as nice a man as there is in this coun 
try, said one of the crowd. 4 What did you say 
to him ? 

&quot; Nothing ; he .came up to me, extended his 
hand, saying, &quot; My young friend, I understand 
that you re from Kentucky.&quot; &quot;I be, sir,&quot; I re 
plied, when he looked me in the eye and said, 
&quot; You re a G d liar,&quot; and turned and walked 
away. Why, he must have wanted to insult me. 
And then we all knew why our little scheme had 
failed. There was food and raiment in it for him, 
but he would use that little word be. &quot; 

&quot; Did any of you notice my saddle horse lie down 
just after we crossed this last creek this after 
noon ? &quot; inquired Eod Wheat. 

&quot; No ; what made him lie down ? &quot; asked several 
of the boys. 

&quot; Oh, he just found a gopher hole and stuck his 
forefeet into it one at a time, and then tried to 
pull them both out at once, and when he could n t 


DOAN S CROSSING 129 

do it, he simply shut his eyes like a dying sheep 
and lay down.&quot; 

&quot; Then you ve seen sheep die,&quot; said the horse 
wrangler. 

&quot; Of course I have ; a sheep can die any time he 
makes up his mind to by simply shutting both eyes 
then he s a goner.&quot; 

Quince Forrest, who had brought in his horse to 
go out with the second watch, he and Bob Blades 
having taken advantage of the foreman s absence 
to change places on guard for the night, had been 
listening to the latter part of Wyatt s yarn very 
attentively. We all hoped that he would mount 
and ride out to the herd, for though he was a good 
story-teller and meaty with personal experiences, 
where he thought they would pass muster he was 
inclined to overcolor his statements. We usually 
gave him respectful attention, but were frequently 
compelled to regard him as a cheerful, harmless 
liar. So when he showed no disposition to go, we 
knew we were in for one from him. 

&quot;When I was boss bull-whacker,&quot; he began, 
&quot; for a big army sutler at Fort Concho, I used to 
make two round trips a month with my train. It 
was a hundred miles to wagon from the freight 
point where we got our supplies. I had ten teams, 
six and seven yoke to the team, and trail wagons to 
each. I was furnished a night herder and a cook, 
saddle horses for both night herder and myself. 
You hear me, it was a slam up fine layout. We 


130 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

could handle three or four tons to the team, and 
with the whole train we could chamber two car 
loads of anything. One day we were nearing the 
fort with a mixed cargo of freight, when a mes 
senger came out and met us with an order from 
the sutler. He wanted us to make the fort that 
night and unload. The mail buckboard had re 
ported us to the sutler as camped out back on a 
little creek about ten miles. We were always 
entitled to a day to unload and drive back to camp, 
which gave us good grass for the oxen, but under 
the orders the whips popped merrily that after 
noon, and when they all got well strung out, I rode 
in ahead, to see what was up. Well, it seems that 
four companies of infantry from Fort McKavett, 
which were out for field practice, were going to be 
brought into this post to be paid three months 
wages. This, with the troops stationed at Concho, 
would turn loose quite a wad of money. The 
sutler called me into his office when I reached the 
fort, and when he had produced a black bottle 
used for cutting the alkali in your drinking wa 
ter, he said, Jack, he called me Jack ; my full 
name is John Quincy Forrest, Jack, can you 
make the round trip, and bring in two cars of bot 
tled beer that will be on the track waiting for you, 
and get back by pay day, the 10th ? 

&quot; I figured the time in my mind ; it was twelve 
days. 

&quot;* There s five extra in it for each man for the 


DOAN S CROSSING 131 

trip, and I 11 make it right with you, he added, as 
he noticed my hesitation, though I was only mak 
ing a mental calculation. 

&quot; Why, certainly, Captain, I said. What s 
that fable about the jack rabbit and the land tar- 
rapin ? He did n t know and I did n t either, so 
I said to illustrate the point : c Put your freight on 
a bull train, and it always goes through on time. 
A race horse can t beat an ox on a hundred miles 
and repeat to a freight wagon. Well, we unloaded 
before night, and it was pitch dark before we made 
camp. I explained the situation to the men. We 
planned to go in empty in five days, which would 
give us seven to come back loaded. We made 
every camp on time like clockwork. The fifth 
morning we were anxious to get a daybreak start, 
so we could load at night. The night herder had 
his orders to bring in the oxen the first sign of 
day, and I called the cook an hour before light. 
When the oxen were brought in, the men were up 
and ready to go to yoking. But the nigh wheeler 
in Joe Jenk s team, a big brindle, muley ox, a 
regular pet steer, was missing. I saw him myself, 
Joe saw him, and the night herder swore he came 
in with the rest. Well, we looked high and low 
for that Mr. Ox, but he had vanished. While the 
men were eating their breakfast, I got on my horse 
and the night herder and I scoured and circled 
that country for miles around, but no ox. The 
country was so bare and level that a jack rabbit 


132 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

needed to carry a fly for shade. I was worried, 
for we needed every ox and every moment of time. 
I ordered Joe to tie his mate behind the trail 
wagon and pull out one ox shy. 

&quot; Well, fellows, that thing worried me powerful. 
Half the teamsters, good, honest, truthful men as 
ever popped a whip, swore they saw that ox when 
they came in. Well, it served a strong argument 
that a man can be positive and yet be mistaken. 
We nooned ten miles from our night camp that 
day. Jerry Wilkens happened to mention it at 
dinner that he believed his trail needed greasing. 
Why, said Jerry, you d think that I was loaded, 
the way my team kept their chains taut. I no 
ticed Joe get up from dinner before he had fin 
ished, as if an idea had struck him. He went over 
and opened the sheet in Jerry s trail wagon, and a 
smile spread over his countenance. Come here, 
fellows, was all he said. 

&quot; We ran over to the wagon and there &quot; 

The boys turned their backs with indistinct 
mutterings of disgust. 

&quot; You all don t need to believe this if yon don t 
want to, but there was the missing ox, coiled up and 
sleeping like a bear in the wagon. He even had 
Jerry s roll of bedding for a pillow. You see, the 
wagon sheet was open in front, and he had hopped 
up on the trail tongue and crept in there to steal 
a ride. Joe climbed into the wagon, and gave 
him a few swift kicks in the short ribs, when 


DOAN S CROSSING 133 

he opened his eyes, yawned, got up, and jumped 
out.&quot; 

Bull was rolling a cigarette before starting, 
while Fox s night horse was hard to bridle, which 
hindered them. With this slight delay, Forrest 
turned his horse back and continued : &quot;That same 
ox on the next trip, one night when we had the 
wagons parked into a corral, got away from the 
herder, tip-toed over the men s beds in the gate, 
stood on his hind legs long enough to eat four 
fifty-pound sacks of flour out of the rear end of a 
wagon, got down on his side, and wormed his way 
under the wagon back into the herd, without being 
detected or waking a man.&quot; 

As they rode away to relieve the first guard, 
McCann said, &quot; Is n t he a muzzle-loading daisy ? 
If I loved a liar I d hug that man to death.&quot; 

The absence of our foreman made no difference. 
We all knew our places on guard. Experience 
told us there would be no trouble that night. 
After Wyatt Roundtree and Moss Strayhorn had 
made down their bed and got into it, Wyatt re 
marked, 

&quot; Did you ever notice, old sidey, how hard this 
ground is ? &quot; 

&quot; Oh, yes,&quot; said Moss, as he turned over, hunting 
for a soft spot, &quot; it is hard, but we 11 forget all 
that when this trip ends. Brother, dear, just think 
of those long slings with red cherries floating 
around in them that we 11 be drinking, and picture 


134 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

us smoking cigars in a blaze. That thought alone 
ought to make a hard bed both soft and warm. 
Then to think we 11 ride all the way home on the 
cars.&quot; 

McCann banked his fire, and the first guard, 
Wheat, Stallings, and Borrowstone, rode in from 
the herd, all singing an old chorus that had been 
composed, with little regard for music or sense, 
about a hotel where they had stopped the year 
before : 

&quot; Sure it s one cent for coffee and two cents for bread, 
Three for a steak and five for a bed, 
Sea breeze from the gutter wafts a salt water smell, 
To the festive cowboy in the Southwestern hotel.&quot; 


CHAPTER X 


FLOOD overtook us the next morning, and as a 
number of us gathered round him to hear the news, 
told us of a letter that Mann had got at Doan s, 
stating that the first herd to pass Camp Supply had 
been harassed by Indians. The &quot; Running W &quot; 
people, Mann s employers, had a representative at 
Dodge, who was authority for the statement. Flood 
had read the letter, which intimated that an appeal 
would be made to the government to send troops 
from either Camp Supply or Fort Sill to give trail 
herds a safe escort in passing the western border 
of this Indian reservation. The letter, therefore, 
admonished Mann, if lie thought the Indians would 
give any trouble, to go up the south side of Red 
River, as far as the Pan-handle of Texas, and 
then turn north to the government trail at Fort 
Elliot. 

&quot; I told Mann,&quot; said our foreman, &quot; that before 
I d take one step backward, or go off on a wild 
goose chase through that Pan-handle country, I d 
go back home and start over next year on the 
Chisholm trail. It s the easiest thing in the world 
for some big auger to sit in a hotel somewhere and 


136 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

direct the management of a herd. I don t look for 
no soldiers to furnish an escort ; it would take the 
government six months to get a move on her, even 
in an emergency. I left Billy Mann in a quandary ; 
he does n t know what to do. That big auger at 
Dodge is troubling him, for if he don t act on his 
advice, and loses cattle as the result well, he 11 
never boss any more herds for King and Kennedy. 
So, boys, if we re ever to see the Blackf oot Agency, 
there s but one course for us to take, and that s 
straight ahead. As old Oliver Loving, the first 
Texas cowman that ever drove a herd, used to say, 
Never borrow trouble, or cross a river before you 
reach it. So when the cattle are through grazing, 
let them hit the trail north. It s entirely too late 
for us to veer away from any Indians.&quot; 

We were following the regular trail, which had 
been slightly used for a year or two, though none of 
our outfit had ever been over it, when late on the 
third afternoon, about forty miles out from Doau s, 
about a hundred mounted bucks and squaws sighted 
our herd and crossed the North Fork from their 
encampment. They did not ride direct to the herd, 
but came into the trail nearly a mile above the 
cattle, so it was some little time from our first sight 
ing them before we met. We did not check the 
herd or turn out of the trail, but when the lead 
came within a few hundred yards of the Indians, 
one buck, evidently the chief of the band, rode 
forward a few rods and held up one hand, as if 


&quot;NO MAN S LAND&quot; 137 

commanding a halt. At the sight of this gaudily 
bedecked apparition, the cattle turned out of the 
trail, and Flood and I rode up to the chief, ex 
tending our hands in friendly greeting. The chief 
could not speak a word of English, but made signs 
with his hands ; when I turned loose on him in 
Spanish, however, he instantly turned his horse 
and signed back to his band. Two young bucks 
rode forward and greeted Flood and myself in good 
Spanish. 

On thus opening up an intelligible conversation, 
I called Fox Quarternight, who spoke Spanish, and 
he rode up from his position of third man in the 
swing and joined in the council. The two young 
Indians through whom we carried on the conver 
sation were Apaches, no doubt renegades of that 
tribe, and while we understood each other in Span 
ish, they spoke in a heavy guttural peculiar to the 
Indian. Flood opened the powwow by demanding 
to know the meaning of this visit. When the 
question had been properly interpreted to the chief, 
the latter dropped his blanket from his shoulders 
and dismounted from his horse. He was a fine 
specimen of the Plains Indian, fully six feet in 
height, perfectly proportioned, and in years well 
past middle life. He looked every inch a chief, 
and was a natural born orator. There was a cer 
tain easy grace to his gestures, only to be seen in 
people who use the sign language, and often when 
he was speaking to the Apache interpreters, I could 


138 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

anticipate his requests before they were translated 
to us, although I did not know a word of Co- 
manche. 

Before the powwow had progressed far it was 
evident that begging was its object. In his pre 
lude, the chief laid claim to all the country in sight 
as the hunting grounds of the Comanche tribe, 
an intimation that we were intruders. He spoke of 
the great slaughter of the buffalo by the white hide- 
hunters, and the consequent hunger and poverty 
amongst his people. He dwelt on the fact that he 
had ever counseled peace with the whites, until now 
Ms band numbered but a few squaws and papooses, 
the younger men having deserted him for other 
chiefs of the tribe who advocated war on the pale 
faces. When he had fully stated his position, he 
offered to allow us to pass through his country 
in consideration of ten beeves. On receiving this 
proposition, all of us dismounted, including the two 
Apaches, the latter seating themselves in their own 
fashion, while we whites lounged on the ground 
in truly American laziness, rolling cigarettes. In 
dealing with people who know not the value of time, 
the civilized man is taken at a disadvantage, and 
unless he can show an equal composure in wasting 
time, results will be against him. Flood had had 
years of experience in dealing with Mexicans in the 
land of manana, where all maxims regarding the 
value of time are religiously discarded. So in deal 
ing with this Indian chief he showed no desire to 




&quot;NO MAN S LAND&quot; 139 

hasten matters, and carefully avoided all reference 
to the demand for beeves. 

His first question, instead, was to know the dis 
tance to Fort Sill and Fort Elliot. The next was 
how many days it would take for cavalry to reach 
him. He then had us narrate the fact that when 
the first herd of cattle passed through the country 
less than a month before, some bad Indians had 
shown a very unfriendly spirit. They had taken 
many of the cattle and had killed and eaten them, 
and now the great white man s chief at Washing 
ton was very much displeased. If another single 
ox were taken and killed by bad Indians, he would 
send his soldiers from the forts to protect the cattle, 
even though their owners drove the herds through 
the reservation of the Indians over the grass 
where their ponies grazed. He had us inform 
the chief that our entire herd was intended by the 
great white man s chief at Washington as a pre 
sent to the Blackfeet Indians who lived in Mon 
tana, because they were good Indians, and wel 
comed priests and teachers amongst them to teach 
them the ways of the white man. At our fore 
man s request we then informed the chief that he 
was under no obligation to give him even a single 
beef for any privilege of passing through his coun 
try, but as the squaws and little papooses were 
hungry, he would give him two beeves. 

The old chief seemed not the least disconcerted, 
but begged for five beeves, as many of the squaws 


140 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

were in the encampment across the North Fork, 
those present being not quite half of his village. 
It was now getting late in the day and the band 
seemed to be getting tired of the parleying, a num 
ber of squaws having already set out on their re 
turn to the village. After some further talk, Flood 
agreed to add another beef, on condition they be 
taken to the encampment before being killed. This 
was accepted, and at once the entire band set up 
a chattering in view of the coming feast. The cat 
tle had in the mean time grazed off nearly a mile, 
the outfit, however, holding them under a close 
herd during the powwowing. All the bucks in 
the band, numbering about forty, now joined us, 
and we rode away to the herd. I noticed, by the 
way, that quite a number of the younger braves 
had arms, and no doubt they would have made a 
display of force had Flood s diplomacy been of a 
more warlike character? While drifting the herd 
back to the trail we cut out a big lame steer and 
two stray cows for the Indians, who now left us 
and followed the beeves which were being driven 
to their village. 

Flood , had instructed Quarternight and me to 
invite the two Apaches to our camp for the night, 
on the promise of sugar, coffee, and tobacco. They 
consulted with the old chief, and gaining his con 
sent came with us. We extended the hospitality 
of our wagon to our guests, and when supper was 
over, promised them an extra beef if they would 


&quot;NO MAN S LAND&quot; 141 

give us particulars of the trail until it crossed the 
North Fork, after that river turned west towards 
the Pan-handle. It was evident that they were 
familiar with the country, for one of them accepted 
our offer, and with his finger sketched a rude map 
on the ground where there had formerly been a 
camp-fire. He outlined the two rivers between which 
we were then encamped, and traced the trail until 
it crossed the North Fork or beyond the Indian 
reservation. We discussed the outline of the trail 
in detail for an hour, asking hundreds of unimpor 
tant questions, but occasionally getting in a leading 
one, always resulting in the information wanted. 
We learned that the big summer encampment of 
the Comanches and Kiowas was one day s ride for 
a pony or two days with cattle up the trail, at the 
point where the divide between Salt and North 
Fork narrows to about ten miles in width. We 
leeched out of them very cautiously the informa 
tion that the encampment was a large one, and that 
all herds this year had given up cattle, some as 
many as twenty-five head. 

Having secured the information we wanted, Flood 
gave to each Apache a package of Arbuckle coffee, 
a small sack of sugar, and both smoking and chew 
ing tobacco. Quarternight informed them that as 
the cattle were bedded for the night, they had better 
remain until morning, when he would pick them out 
a nice fat beef. On their consenting, Fox stripped 
the wagon sheet off the wagon and made them a 


142 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

good bed, in which, with their body blankets, they 
were as comfortable as any of us. Neither of them 
was armed, so we felt no fear of them, and after 
they had lain down on their couch, Flood called 
Quarternight and me, and we strolled out into the 
darkness and reviewed the information. We agreed 
that the topography of the country they had given 
was most likely correct, because we could verify 
much of it by maps in our possession. Another 
thing on which we agreed was, that there was some 
means of communication between this small and 
seemingly peaceable band and the main encamp 
ment of the tribe ; and that more than likely our 
approach would be known in the large encampment 
before sunrise. In spite of the good opinion we 
entertained of our guests, we were also satisfied 
they had lied to us when they denied they had 
been in the large camp since the trail herds began 
to pass. This was the last question we had asked, 
and the artful manner in which they had parried 
it showed our guests to be no mean diplomats them 
selves. 

Our camp was astir by daybreak, and after break 
fast, as we were catching our mounts for the day, 
one of the Apaches offered to take a certain pinto 
horse in our remuda in lieu of the promised beef, 
but Flood declined the offer. On overtaking the 
herd after breakfast, Quarternight cut out a fat 
two year old stray heifer, and he and I assisted 
our guests to drive their beef several miles toward 


&quot;NO MAN S LAND&quot; 143 

their village. Finally bidding them farewell, we 
returned to the herd, when the outfit informed us 
that Flood and The Rebel had ridden on ahead 
to look out a crossing on the Salt Fork. From this 
move it was evident that if a passable ford could be 
found, our foreman intended to abandon the estab 
lished route and avoid the big Indian encampment. 
On the return of Priest and Flood about noon, 
they reported having found an easy ford of the Salt 
Fork, which, from the indications of their old trails 
centring from every quarter at this crossing, must 
have been used by buffalo for generations. After 
dinner we put our wagon in the lead, and following 
close at hand with the cattle, turned off the trail 
about a mile above our noon camp and struck to 
the westward for the crossing. This we reached 
and crossed early that evening, camping out nearly 
five miles to the west of the river. Rain was always 
to be dreaded in trail work, and when bedding down 
the herd that night, we had one of the heaviest 
downpours which we had experienced since leaving 
the Rio Grande. It lasted several hours, but we 
stood it uncomplainingly, for this fortunate drench 
ing had obliterated every trace left by our wagon 
and herd since abandoning the trail, as well as the 
sign left at the old buffalo crossing on the Salt 
Fork. The rain ceased about ten o clock, when the 
cattle bedded down easily, and the second guard 
took them for their watch. Wood was too scarce 
to afford a fire, and while our slickers had partially 


144 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

protected us from the rain, many of us went to bed 
in wet clothing that night. After another half 
day s drive to the west, we turned northward and 
traveled in that direction through a nice country, 
more or less broken with small hills, but well 
watered. On the morning of the first day after 
turning north, Honeyman reported a number of 
our saddle horses had strayed from camp. This 
gave Flood some little uneasiness, and a number 
of us got on our night horses without loss of time 
and turned out to look up the missing saddle stock. 
The Rebel and I set out together to the southward, 
while others of the outfit set off to the other points 
of the compass. 

I was always a good trailer, was in fact acknow, 
ledged to be one of the best, with the exception of 
my brother Zack, on the San Antonio River, where 
we grew up as boys. In circling about that morn- 
ing, I struck the trail of about twenty horses the 
missing number and at once signaled to Priest^ 
who was about a mile distant, to join me. The 
ground was fortunately fresh from the recent rain 
and left an easy trail. We galloped along it easily 
for some little distance, when the trail suddenly 
turned and we could see that the horses had been 
running, having evidently received a sudden scare. 
On following up the trail nearly a mile, we noticed 
where they had quieted down and had evidently 
grazed for several hours, but in looking up the 
trail by which they had left these parts, Priest 


&quot;NO MAN S LAND&quot; 145 

made the discovery of signs of cattle. We located 
the trail of the horses soon, and were again sur 
prised to find that they had been running as be 
fore, though the trail was much fresher, having 
possibly been made about dawn. / We ran the trail 
out until it passed over a slight divide, when there 
before us stood the missing horses. They never 
noticed us, but were standing at attention, cau 
tiously sniffing the early morning air, on which was 
borne to them the scent of something they feared. 
On reaching them, their fear seemed not the least 
appeased, and my partner and I had our curiosity 
sufficiently aroused to ride forward to the cause of 
their alarm. As we rounded the spur of the hill, 
there in plain view grazed a band of about twenty 
buffalo. We were almost as excited as the horses 
over the discovery. By dropping back and keep 
ing the hill between us and them, then dismount 
ing and leaving our horses, we thought we could 
reach the apex of the hill. It was but a small eleva 
tion, and from its summit we secured a splendid 
view of the animals, now less than three hundred 
yards distant. Flattening ourselves out, we spent 
several minutes watching the shaggy animals as 
they grazed leisurely forward, while several calves 
in the bunch gamboled around their mothers. A 
buffalo calf, I had always heard, made delicious 
veal, and as we had had no fresh meat since we 
had started, I proposed to Priest that we get one. 
He suggested trying our ropes, for if we could 


146 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

/ ever get within effective six-shooter range, a rope 
was much the surest. Certainly such cumbrous, 
awkward looking animals, he said, could be no 
match for our Texas horses. We accordingly 
dropped back off the hill to our saddle stock, when 
Priest said that if he only had a certain horse of 
his out of the band we had been trailing he would 
promise me buffalo veal if he had to follow them 
to the Pan-hancile] It took us but a few minutes 
to return to our horses, round them in, and secure 
the particular horse he wanted. I was riding my 
Nigger Boy, my regular night horse, and as only one 
of my mount was in this bunch, a good horse, but 
sluggish, I concluded to give my black a trial, 
not depending on his speed so much as his staying 
qualities. It took but a minute for The Eebel to 
shift his saddle from one horse to another, when 
he started around to the south, while I turned to the 
north, so as to approach the buffalo simultaneously. 
I came in sight of the band first, my partner hav 
ing a farther ride to make, but had only a few 
moments to wait, before I noticed the quarry take 
alarm, and the next instant Priest dashed out from 
behind a spur of the hill and was after them, I 
following suit. They turned westward, and when 
The Rebel and I came together on the angle of 
their course, we were several hundred yards in 
their rear. My bunkie had the best horse in speed 
by all odds, and was soon crowding the band so 
close that they began to scatter, and though I 


&quot;NO MAN S LAND&quot; 147 

passed several old bulls and cows, it was all I could 
do to keep in sight of the calves. After the chase 
had continued over a mile, the staying qualities of 
my horse began to shine, but while I was nearing 
the lead, The Eebel tied to the largest calf in the 
bunch. The calf he had on his rope was a beauty, 
and on overtaking him, I reined in my horse, foi 
to have killed a second one would have been sheer 
waste. Priest wanted me to shoot the calf, but I 
refused, so he shifted the rope to the pommel of 
my saddle, and, dismounting, dropped the calf at 
the first shot. We skinned him, cut off his head, 
and after disemboweling him, lashed the carcass 
across my saddle. Then both of us mounted 
Priest s horse, and started on our return. 

On reaching the horse stock, we succeeded in 
catching a sleepy old horse belonging to Rod 
Wheat s mount, and I rode him bridleless and 
bareback to camp. We received an ovation on 
our arrival, the recovery of the saddle horses being 
a secondary matter compared to the buffalo veal. 
&quot; So it was buffalo that scared our horses, was it, 
and ran them out of camp ? &quot; said McCann, as he 
helped to unlash the calf. &quot; Well, it s an ill wind 
that blows nobody good.&quot; There was no particular 
loss of time, for the herd had grazed away on our 
course several miles, and after changing our mounts 
we overtook the herd with the news that not only 
the horses had been found, but that there was fresh 
meat in camp and buffalo veal at that ! The 


148 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

other men out horse hunting, seeing the cattle 
strung out in traveling shape, soon returned to 
their places beside the trailing herd. 

We held a due northward course, which we 
figured ought to carry us past and at least thirty 
miles to the westward of the big Indian encamp 
ment. The worst thing with which we had now to 
contend was the weather, it having rained more or 
less during the past day and night, or ever since 
we had crossed the Salt Fork. The weather had 
thrown the outfit into such a gloomy mood that 
they would scarcely speak to or answer each other. 
This gloomy feeling had been growing on us for 
several days, and it was even believed secretly that 
our foreman did n t know where he was ; that the 
outfit was drifting and as good as lost. About 
noon of the third day, the weather continuing wet 
with cold nights, and with no abatement of the 
general gloom, our men on point noticed smoke 
arising directly ahead on our course, in a little 
valley through which ran a nice stream of water. 
When Flood s attention was directed to the smoke, 
he rode forward to ascertain the cause, and re 
turned worse baffled tjian I ever saw him. 

It was an Indian camp, and had evidently been 
abandoned only that morning, for the fires were 
still smouldering. Ordering the wagon to camp 
on the creek and the cattle to graze forward till 
noon, Flood returned to the Indian camp, taking 
two of the boys and myself with him. It had not 


&quot;NO MAN S LAND&quot; 149 

been a permanent camp, yet showed evidence of 
having been occupied several days at least, and 
had contained nearly a hundred lean-tos, wickyups, 
and tepees altogether too large an encampment 
to suit our tastes. The foreman had us hunt up 
the trail leaving, and once we had found it, all 
four of us ran it out five or six miles, when, from 
the freshness of it, fearing that we might be seen, 
we turned back. The Indians had many ponies 
and possibly some cattle, though the sign of the 
latter was hard to distinguish from buffalo. Be 
fore quitting their trail, we concluded they were 
from one of the reservations, and were heading for 
their old stamping ground, the Pan-handle coun 
try, peaceable probably ; but whether peaceable 
or not, we had no desire to meet with them. We 
lost little time, then, in returning to the herd and 
making late and early drives until we were out of 
that section. 

But one cannot foresee impending trouble on 
the cattle trail, any more than elsewhere, and al 
though we encamped that night a long distance 
to the north of the abandoned Indian camp, the 
next morning we came near having a stampede. 
It happened just at dawn. Flood had called the 
cook an hour before daybreak, and he had started 
out with Honeyman to drive in the remuda, which 
had scattered badly the morning before. They 
had the horses rounded up and were driving them 
towards camp when, about half a mile from the 


150 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

wagon, four old buffalo bulls ran quartering past 
the horses. This was tinder among stubble, and 
in their panic the horses outstripped the wranglers 
and came thundering for camp. Luckily we had 
been called to breakfast, and those of us who could 
see what was up ran and secured our night horses. 
Before half of the horses were thus secured, how 
ever, one hundred and thirty loose saddle stock 
dashed through camp, and every horse on picket 
went with them, saddles and all, and dragging the 
picket ropes. Then the cattle jumped from the 
bed ground and were off like a shot, the fourth 
guard, who had them in charge, with them. Just 
for the time being it was an open question which 
way to ride, our saddle horses going in one direc 
tion and the herd in another. Priest was an early 
riser and had hustled me out early, so fortunately 
we reached our horses, though over half the outfit 
in camp could only look on and curse their luck at 
being left afoot. The Rebel was first in the sad 
dle, and turned after the horses, but I rode for the 
herd. The cattle were not badly scared, and as 
the morning grew clearer, five of us quieted them 
down before they had run more than a short 
mile. 

The horses, however, gave us a long, hard run, 
and since a horse has a splendid memory, the 
effects of this scare were noticeable for nearly a 
month after. Honeyman at once urged our fore 
man to hobble at night, but Flood knew the im- 


&quot;NO MAN S LAND&quot; 151 

portance of keeping the remuda strong, and re 
fused. But his decision was forced, for just as it 
was growing dusk that evening, we heard the 
horses running, and all hands had to turn out, to 
surround them and bring them into camp. We 
hobbled every horse and side-lined certain leaders, 
and for fully a week following, one scare or an 
other seemed to hold our saddle stock in constant 
terror. During this week we turned out our night 
horses, and taking the worst of the leaders in their 
stead, tied them solidly to the wagon wheels all 
night, not being willing to trust to picket ropes. 
They would even run from a mounted man during 
the twilight of evening or early dawn, or from any 
object not distinguishable in uncertain light; but 
the wrangler now never went near them until after 
sunrise, and their nervousness gradually subsided. 
Trouble never comes singly, however, and when 
we struck the Salt Fork, we found it raging, and 
impassable nearly from bank to bank. But get 
across we must. The swimming of it was nothing, 
but it was necessary to get our wagon over, and 
there came the rub. We swam the cattle in twenty 
minutes time, but it took us a full half day to get 
the wagon over. The river was at least a hun 
dred yards wide, three quarters of which was swim 
ming to a horse. But we hunted up and down the 
river until we found an eddy, where the banks 
had a gradual approach to deep water, and started 
to raft the wagon over a thing none of the out- 


152 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

fit had ever seen done, though we had often heard 
of it around camp-fires in Texas. The first thing 
was to get the necessary timber to make the raft. 
We scouted along the Salt Fork for a mile either 
way before we found sufficient dry, dead cotton- 
wood to form our raft. Then we set about cutting 
it, but we had only one axe, and were the poorest 
set of axemen that were ever called upon to perform 
a similar task ; when we cut a tree it looked as 
though a beaver had gnawed it down. On horse 
back the Texan shines at the head of his class, but 
in any occupation which must be performed on 
foot he is never a competitor. There was scarcely 
a man in our outfit who could not swing a rope 
and tie down a steer in a given space of time, but 
when it came to swinging an axe to cut logs for 
the raft, our lustre faded. &quot; Cutting these logs,&quot; 
said Joe Stallings, as he mopped the sweat from 
his brow, &quot; reminds me of what the Tennessee girl 
who married a Texan wrote home to her sister. 
* Texas, so she wrote, is a good place for men and 
dogs, but it s hell on women and oxen. &quot; 

Dragging the logs up to the place selected for 
the ford was an easy matter. They were light, and 
we did it with ropes from the pommels of our sad 
dles, two to four horses being sufficient to handle 
any of the trees. When everything was ready, we 
ran the wagon out into two-foot water and built 
the raft under it. We had cut the dry logs from 
eighteen to twenty feet long, and now ran a tier of 


&quot;NO MAN S LAND&quot; 153 

these under the wagon between the wheels. These 
we lashed securely to the axle, and even lashed one 
large log on the underside of the hub on the out 
side of the wheel. Then we cross-timbered under 
these, lashing everything securely to this outside 
guard log. Before we had finished the cross-tim 
bering, it was necessary to take an anchor rope 
ashore for fear our wagon would float away By 
the time we had succeeded in getting twenty-five 
dry cottonwood logs under our wagon, it was afloat. 
Half a dozen of us then swam the river on our 
horses, taking across the heaviest rope we had for 
a tow line. We threw the wagon tongue back and 
lashed it, and making fast to the wagon with one 
end of the tow rope, fastened our lariats to the 
other. With the remainder of our unused rope, 
we took a guy line from the wagon and snubbed it 
to a tree on the south bank. Everything being in 
readiness, the word was given, and as those on the 
south bank eased away, those on horseback on the 
other side gave the rowel to their horses, and our 
commissary floated across. The wagon floated so 
easily that McCann was ordered on to the raft to 
trim the weight when it struck the current. The 
current carried it slightly downstream, and when 
it lodged on the other side, those on the south bank 
fastened lariats to the guy rope ; and with them 
pulling from that side and us from ours, it was 
soon brought opposite the landing and hauled into 
shallow water. Once the raft timber was unlashed 


154 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

and removed, the tongue was lowered, and from the 
pommels of six saddles the wagon was set high and 
dry on the north bank. There now only remained 
to bring up the cattle and swim them, which was 
an easy task and soon accomplished. 

After putting the Salt Fork behind us, our 
spirits were again dampened, for it rained all the 
latter part of the night and until noon the next 
day. It was with considerable difficulty that 
McCann could keep his fire from drowning out 
while he was getting breakfast, and several of the 
outfit refused to eat at all. Flood knew it was 
useless to rally the boys, for a wet, hungry man is 
not. to be jollied or reasoned with. Five days had 
now elapsed since we turned off the established 
trail, and half the time rain had been falling. 
Besides, our doubt as to where we were had been 
growing, so before we started that morning, Bull 
Durham very good-naturedly asked Flood if he 
had any idea where he was. 

&quot; No, I have n t. No more than you have,&quot; re 
plied our foreman. &quot; But this much I do know, or 
will just as soon as the sun comes out : I know 
north from south. We have been traveling north 
by a little west, and if we hold that course we re 
bound to strike the North Fork, and within a day 
or two afterwards we will come into the govern 
ment trail, running from Fort Elliot to Camp Sup 
ply, which will lead us into our own trail. Or if 
we were certain that we had cleared the Indian 


&quot;NO MAN S LAND&quot; 155 

reservation, we could bear to our right, and in time 
we would reenter the trail that way. I can t help 
the weather, boys, and as long as I have chuck, 
I d as lief be lost as found.&quot; 

If there was any recovery in the feelings of the 
outfit after this talk of Flood s, it was not notice 
able, and it is safe to say that two thirds of the 
boys believed we were in the Pan-handle of Texas. 
One man s opinion is as good as another s in a 
strange country, and while there was n t a man in 
the outfit who cared to suggest it, I know the 
majority of us would have indorsed turning north 
east. But the fates smiled on us at last. About 
the middle of the forenoon, on the following day, 
we cut an Indian trail, about three days old, of 
probably fifty horses. A number of us followed 
the trail several miles on its westward course, and 
among other things discovered that they had been 
driving a small bunch of cattle, evidently making 
for the sand hills which we could see about twenty 
miles to our left. How they had come by the cattle 
was a mystery, perhaps by forced levy, perhaps 
from a stampede. One thing was certain : the trail 
must have contributed them, for there were none 
but trail cattle in the country. This was reassur 
ing and gave some hint of guidance. We were all 
tickled, therefore, after nooning that day and on 
starting the herd in the afternoon, to hear our 
foreman give orders to point the herd a little east 
of north. The next few days we made long drives, 


156 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

our saddle horses recovered from their scare, and 
the outfit fast regained its spirits. 

On the morning of the tenth day after leaving 
the trail, we loitered up a long slope to a divide in 
our lead from which we sighted timber to the north. 
This we supposed from its size must be the North 
Fork. Our route lay up this divide some distance, 
and before we left it, some one in the rear sighted 
a dust cloud to the right and far behind us. As 
dust would hardly rise on a still morning without a 
cause, we turned the herd off the divide and pushed 
on, for we suspected Indians. Flood and Priest 
hung back on the divide, watching the dust signals, 
and after the herd had left them several miles 
in the rear, they turned and rode towards it, a 
move which the outfit could hardly make out. It 
was nearly noon when we saw them returning in a 
long lope, and when they came in sight of the herd, 
Priest waved his hat in the air and gave the long 
yell. When he explained that there was a herd of 
cattle on the trail in the rear and to our right, the 
yell went around the herd, and was reechoed by 
our wrangler and cook in the rear. The spirits of 
the outfit instantly rose. We halted the herd and 
camped for noon, and McCann set out his best in 
celebrating the occasion. It was the most enjoyable 
meal we had had in the past ten days. After a 
good noonday rest, we set out, and having entered 
the trail during the afternoon, crossed the North 
Fork late that evening. As we were going into 


&quot;NO MAN S LAND&quot; 157 

camp, we noticed a horseman coming up the trail, 
who turned out to be smiling Nat Straw, whom we 
had left on the Colorado Kiver. &quot;Well, girls,&quot; 
said Nat, dismounting, &quot; I did n t know who you 
were, but I just thought I d ride ahead and over 
take whoever it was and stay all night. Indians ? 
Yes ; I would n t drive on a trail that had n t any 
excitement on it. I gave the last big encampment 
ten strays, and won them all back and four ponies 
besides on a horse raceV- Oh, yes, got some running 
stock with us. How soon will supper be ready, 
cusi? Get up something extra, for you ve got 
company.&quot; 


CHAPTER XI 

A BOGGY FORD 

THAT night we learned from Straw our location 
on the trail. We were far above the Indian reser 
vation, and instead of having been astray our fore 
man had held a due northward course, and we 
were probably as far on the trail as if we had 
followed the regular route. So in spite of all our 
good maxims, we had been borrowing trouble; we 
were never over thirty miles to the westward of 
what was then the new Western Cattle Trail. We 
concluded that the &quot; Running W &quot; herd had turned 
back, as Straw brought the report that some herd 
had recrossed Red River the day before his arrival, 
giving for reasons the wet season and the danger 
of getting waterbound.. 

About noon of the second day after leaving the 
North Fork of Red River, we crossed the Washita, 
a deep stream, the slippery banks of which gave 
every indication of a recent rise. We had no trou 
ble in crossing either wagon or herd, it being hardly 
a check in our onward course. The abandonment 
of the regular trail the past ten days had been a 
noticeable benefit to our herd, for the cattle had had 
an abundance of fresh country to graze over as well 


A BOGGY FORD 159 

as plenty of rest. But now that we were back on 
the trail, we gave them their freedom and frequently 
covered twenty miles a day, until we reached the 
South Canadian, which proved to be the most 
delusive stream we had yet encountered. It also 
showed, like the Washita, every evidence of having 
been on a recent rampage. On our arrival there 
was no volume of water to interfere, but it had a 
quicksand bottom that would bog a saddle blanket. 
Our foreman had been on ahead and examined the 
regular crossing, and when he returned, freely ex 
pressed his opinion that we would be unable to trail 
the herd across, but might hope to effect it by cutting 
it into small bunches. When we came, therefore, 
within three miles of the river, we turned off the 
trail to a near-by creek and thoroughly watered the 
herd. This was contrary to our practice, for we 
usually wanted the herd thirsty when reaching a 
large river. But any cow brute that halted in 
fording the Canadian that day was doomed to sink 
into quicksands from which escape was doubtful. 

We held the wagon and saddle horses in the rear, 
and when we were half a mile away from the trail 
ford, cut off about two hundred head of the leaders 
and started for the crossing, leaving only the horse 
wrangler and one man with the herd. On reach 
ing the river we gave them an extra push, and the 
cattle plunged into the muddy water. Before the 
cattle had advanced fifty feet, instinct warned them 
of the treacherous footing, and the leaders tried to 


160 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

turn back ; but by that time we had the entire bunch 
in the water and were urging them forward. They 
had halted but a moment and begun milling, when 
several heavy steers sank ; then we gave way and 
allowed the rest to come back. We did not realize 
fully the treachery of this river until we saw that 
twenty cattle were caught in the merciless grasp of 
the quicksand. They sank slowly to the level of 
theirHfroTfiSsTwhich gave sufficient resistance to sup 
port their weight, but they were hopelessly bogged. 
We allowed the free cattle to return to the herd, 
and immediately turned our attention to those that 
were bogged, some of whom were nearly submerged 
by water. We dispatched some of the boys to the 
wagon for our heavy corral ropes and a bundle of 
horse-hobbles; and the remainder of us, stripped to 
the belt, waded out and surveyed the situation at 
close quarters. We were all experienced in han 
dling bogged cattle, though this quicksand was the 
most deceptive that I, at least, had ever witnessed. 
The bottom of the river as we waded through it 
was solid under our feet, and as long as we kept 
moving it felt so, but the moment we stopped we 
sank as in a quagmire. The &quot;pull &quot; of this quick 
sand was so strong that four of us were unable to 
lift a steer s tail out, once it was imbedded in the 
sand. And when we had released a tail by burrow 
ing around it to arm s length and freed it, it would 
sink of its own weight in a minute s time until it 
would have to be burrowed out again. To avoid 


A BOGGY FORD 161 

this we had to coil up the tails and tie them with 
a soft rope hobble. 

Fortunately none of the cattle were over forty 
feet from the bank, and when our heavy rope 
arrived we divided into two gangs and began the 
work of rescue. We first took a heavy rope from 
the animal s horns to solid footing on the river 
bank, and tied to this five or six of our lariats. 
Meanwhile others rolled a steer over as far as pos 
sible and began burrowing with their hands down 
alongside a fore and hind leg simultaneously until 
they could pass a small rope around the pastern 
above the cloof , or better yet through the cloven in 
the hoof, when the leg could be readily lifted by 
two men. We could not stop burrowing, however, 
for a moment, or the space would fill and solidify. 
Once a leg was freed, we doubled it back short and 
securely tied it with a hobble, and when the fore 
and hind leg were thus secured, we turned the ani 
mal over on that side and released the other legs in 
a similar manner. Then we hastened out of the 
water and into our saddles, and wrapped the loose 
end of our ropes to the pommels, having already 
tied the lariats to the heavy corral rope from the 
animal s horns. When the word was given, we 
took a good swinging start, and unless something 
gave way there was one steer less in the bog. Af 
ter we had landed the animal high and dry on the 
bank, it was but a minute s work to free the rope 
and untie the hobbles. Then it was advisable to 


162 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

get into the saddle with little loss of time and give 
him a wide berth, for he generally arose angry and 
sullen. 

It was dark before we got the last of the bogged 
cattle out and retraced our way to camp from the 
first river on the trip that had turned us. But 
we were not the least discouraged, for we felt cer 
tain there was a ford that had a bottom some 
where within a few miles, and we could hunt it up 
on the morrow. The next one, however, we would 
try before we put the cattle in. There was no 
question that the treacherous condition of the river 
was due to the recent freshet, which had brought 
down new deposits of sediment and had agitated 
the old, even to changing the channel of the river, 
so that it had not as yet had sufficient time to set 
tle and solidify* 

The next morning after breakfast, Flood and 
two or three of the boys set out up the river, while 
an equal number of us started, under the leader 
ship of The Rebel, down the river on a similar 
errand, to prospect for a crossing. Our party 
scouted for about five miles, and the only safe foot 
ing we could find was a swift, narrow channel be 
tween the bank and an island in the river, while 
beyond the island was a much wider channel with 
water deep enough in several places to swim our 
saddle horses. The footing seemed quite secure to 
our horses, but the cattle were much heavier; and 
if an animal ever bogged in the river, there was 


A BOGGY FORD 163 

water enough to drown him before help could be 
rendered. We stopped our horses a number of 
times, however, to try the footing, and in none of 
our experiments was there any indication of quick 
sand, so we counted the crossing safe. On our re 
turn we found the herd already in motion, headed 
up the river where our foreman had located a cross 
ing. As it was then useless to make any mention 
of the island crossing which we had located, at 
least until a trial had been given to the upper ford, 
we said nothing. When we came within half a 
mile of the new ford, we held up the herd and al 
lowed them to graze, and brought up the remuda 
and crossed and recrossed them without bogging a 
single horse. Encouraged at this, we cut off about 
a hundred head of heavy lead cattle and started for 
the ford. We had a good push on them when we 
struck the water, for there were ten riders around 
them and Flood was in the lead. We called to 
him several times that the cattle were bogging, but 
he never halted until he pulled out on the opposite 
bank, leaving twelve of the heaviest steers in the 
quicksand. 

&quot;Well, in all my experience in trail work,&quot; said 
Flood, as he gazed back at the dozen animals 
struggling in the quicksand, &quot;I never saw as 
deceptive a bottom in any river. We used to fear 
the Cimarron and Platte, but the old South Cana 
dian is the girl that can lay it over them both. 
Still, there ain t any use crying over spilt milk, 


164 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

and we have n t got men enough to hold two herds, 
so surround them, boys, and we 11 recross them if 
we leave twenty-four more in the river. Take 
them back a good quarter, fellows, and bring them 
up on a run, and I 11 take the lead when they 
strike the water; and give them no show to halt 
until they get across.&quot; 

As the little bunch of cattle had already grazed 
out nearly a quarter, we rounded them into a com 
pact body and started for the river to recross them. 
The nearer we came to the river, the faster we went, 
till we struck the water. In several places where 
there were channels, we could neither force the 
cattle nor ride ourselves faster than a walk on ac 
count of the depth of the water, but when we struck 
the shallows, which were the really dangerous 
places, we forced the cattle with horse and quirt. 
Near the middle of the river, in shoal water, Kod 
Wheat was quirting up the cattle, when a big dun 
steer, trying to get out of his reach, sank in the 
quicksand, and Kod s horse stumbled across the 
animal and was thrown. He floundered in at 
tempting to rise, and his hind feet sank to the 
haunches. His ineffectual struggles caused him to 
sink farther to the flanks in the loblolly which the 
tramping of the cattle had caused, and there horse 
and steer lay, side by side, like two in a bed. 
Wheat loosened the cinches of the saddle on either 
side, and stripping the bridle off, brought up the 
rear, carrying saddle, bridle, and blankets on his 


A BOGGY FORD 165 

back. The river was at least three hundred yards 
wide, and when we got to the farther bank, oiu 
horses were so exhausted that we dismounted and 
let them blow. A survey showed we had left a 
total of fifteen cattle and the horse in the quick 
sands. But we congratulated ourselves that we had 
bogged down only three head in recrossing. Get 
ting these cattle out was a much harder task than 
the twenty head gave us the day before, for many 
of these were bogged more than a hundred yards 
from the bank. But no time was to be lost; the 
wagon was brought up in a hurry, fresh horses were 
caught, and we stripped for the fray. While Mc- 
Cann got dinner we got out the horse, even saving 
the cinches that were abandoned in freeing him of 
the saddle. 

During the afternoon we were compelled to 
adopt a new mode of procedure, for with the lim 
ited amount of rope at hand, we could only use one 
rope for drawing the cattle out to solid footing, 
after they were freed from the quagmire. But we 
had four good mules to our chuck wagon, and in 
stead of dragging the cattle ashore from the pom 
mels of saddles, we tied one end of the rope to the 
hind axle and used the mules in snaking the cattle 
out. This worked splendidly, but every time we 
freed a steer we had to drive the wagon well out 
of reach, for fear he might charge the wagon and 
team. But with three crews working in the water, 
tying up tails and legs, the work progressed more 


166 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

rapidly than it had done the day before, and two 
hours before sunset the last animal had been freed, 
We had several exciting incidents during the oper 
ation, for several steers showed fight, and when 
released went on the prod for the first thing in 
sight. The herd was grazing nearly a mile away 
during the afternoon, and as fast as a steer was 
pulled out, some one would take a horse and give 
the freed animal a start for the herd. One big 
black steer turned on Flood, who generally at 
tended to this, and gave him a spirited chase. In 
getting out of the angry steer s way, he passed 
near the wagon, when the maddened beef turned 
from Flood and charged the commissary. McCann 
was riding the nigh wheel mule, and when he saw 
the steer coming, he poured the whip into the 
mules and circled around like a battery in field 
practice, trying to get out of the way. Flood made 
several attempts to cut off the steer from the wagon, 
but he followed it like a mover s dog, until a num 
ber of us, fearing our mules would be gored, ran 
out of the water, mounted our horses, and joined in 
the chase. When we came up with the circus, our 
foreman called to us to rope the beef, and Fox 
Quarternight, getting in the first cast, caught him 
by the two front feet and threw him heavily. Be 
fore he could rise, several of us had dismounted 
and were sitting on him like buzzards on carrion. 
McCann then drove the team around behind a 
sand dune, out of sight; we released the beef, 




A BOGGY FORD 167 

and he was glad to return to the herd, quite so 
bered by the throwing. 

Another incident occurred near the middle of the 
afternoon. From some cause or other, the hind 
leg of a steer, after having been tied up, became 
loosened. No one noticed this; but when, after 
several successive trials, during which Barney 
McCann exhausted a large vocabulary of profan 
ity, the mule team was unable to move the steer, 
six of us fastened our lariats to the main rope, and 
dragged the beef ashore with great eclat. But 
when one of the boys dismounted to unloose the 
hobbles and rope, a sight met our eyes that sent a 
sickening sensation through us, for the steer had 
left one hind leg in the river, neatly disjointed at 
the knee. Then we knew why the mules had failed 
to move him, having previously supposed his size 
was the difficulty, for he was one of the largest 
steers in the herd. No doubt the steer s leg had 
been un jointed in swinging him around, but it had 
taken six extra horses to sever the ligaments and 
skin, while the merciless quicksands of the Cana 
dian held the limb. A friendly shot ended the 
steer s sufferings, and before we finished our work 
for the day, a flight of buzzards were circling 
around in anticipation of the coming feast. 

Another day had been lost, and still the South 
Canadian defied us. We drifted the cattle back 
to the previous night camp, using the same bed 
ground for our herd. It was then that The Kebel 


168 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

broached the subject of a crossing at the island 
which we had examined that morning, and offered 
to show it to our foreman by daybreak. We put 
two extra horses on picket that night, and the next 
morning, before the sun was half an hour high, the 
foreman and The Rebel had returned from the island 
down the river with word that we were to give the 
ford a trial, though we could not cross the wagon 
there. Accordingly we grazed the herd down the 
river and came opposite the island near the middle 
of the forenoon. As usual, we cut off about one 
hundred of the lead cattle, the leaders naturally 
being the heaviest, and started them into the water. 
We reached the island and scaled the farther bank 
without a single animal losing his footing. We 
brought up a second bunch of double, and a third 
of triple the number of the first, and crossed them 
with safety, but as yet the Canadian was dallying 
with us. As we crossed each successive bunch, 
the tramping of the cattle increasingly agitated the 
sands, and when we had the herd about half over, 
we bogged our first steer on the farther landing. 
As the water was so shallow that drowning was 
out of the question, we went back and trailed in 
the remainder of the herd, knowing the bogged 
steer would be there when we were ready for him. 
The island was about two hundred yards long 
by twenty wide, lying up and down the river, 
and in leaving it for the farther bank, we always 
pushed off at the upper end. But now, in trailing 


A BOGGY FORD 169 

the remainder of the cattle over, we attempted to 
force them into the water at the lower end, as the 
footing at that point of this middle ground had 
not, as yet, been trampled up as had the upper 
end. Everything worked nicely until the rear 
guard of the last five or six hundred congested on 
the island, the outfit being scattered on both sides 
of the river as well as in the middle, leaving a scar 
city of men at all points. When the final rear 
guard had reached the river the cattle were strik 
ing out for the farther shore from every quarter of 
the island at their, own sweet will, stopping to 
drink and loitering on the farther side, for there 
was no one to hustle them out. 

All were over at last, and we were on the point 
of congratulating ourselves, for, although the 
herd had scattered badly, we had less than a dozen 
bogged cattle, and those near the shore, when 
suddenly up the river over a mile, there began a 
rapid shooting. Satisfied that it was by our own 
men, we separated, and, circling right and left, 
began to throw the herd together. Some of us 
rode up the river bank and soon located the trou 
ble. We had not ridden a quarter of a mile be 
fore we passed a number of our herd bogged, these 
having reentered the river for their noonday drink, 
and on coming up with the men who had done 
the shooting, we found them throwing the herd 
out from the water. They reported that a large 
number of cattle were bogged farther up the river. 


170 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

All hands rounded in the herd, and drifting them 
out nearly a mile from the river, left them under 
two herders, when the remainder of us returned to 
the bogged cattle. There were by actual count, 
including those down at the crossing, over eighty 
bogged cattle that required our attention, extend 
ing over a space of a mile or more above the island 
ford. 

The outlook was anything but pleasing. Flood 
was almost speechless over the situation, for it 
might have been guarded against. But realizing 
the task before us, we recrossed the river for din 
ner, well knowing the inner man needed fortifying 
for the work before us. No sooner had we disposed 
of the meal and secured a change of mounts all 
round, than we sent two men to relieve the men on 
herd. When they were off, Flood divided up our 
forces for the afternoon work. 

&quot;It will never do,&quot; said he, &quot;to get separated 
from our commissary. So, Priest, you take the 
wagon and remuda and go back up to the regular 
crossing and get our wagon over somehow. There 
will be the cook and wrangler besides yourself, and 
you may have two other men. You will have to 
lighten your load; and don t attempt to cross those 
mules hitched to the wagon; rely on your saddle 
horses for getting the wagon over. Forrest, you 
and Bull, with the two men on herd, take the cattle 
to the nearest creek and water them well. After 
watering, drift them back, so they will be within a 


A BOGGY FORD 171 

mile of these bogged cattle. Then leave two men 
with them and return to the river. I 11 take the 
remainder of the outfit and begin at the ford and 
work up the river. Get the ropes and hobbles, 
boys, and come on.&quot; 

John Officer and I were left with The Rebel to 
get the wagon across, and while waiting for the 
men on herd to get in, we hooked up the mules. 
Honeyman had the remuda in hand to start the min 
ute our herders returned, their change of mounts 
being already tied to the wagon wheels. The need 
of haste was very imperative, for the river might 
rise without an hour s notice, and a two-foot rise 
would drown every hoof in the river as well as cut 
us off from our wagon. The South Canadian has 
its source in the Staked Plains and the mountains 
of New Mexico, and freshets there would cause a 
rise here, local conditions never affecting a river 
of such width. Several of us had seen these Plains 
rivers, when the mountain was sportive and dally 
ing with the plain, under a clear sky and without 
any warning of falling weather, rise with a rush of 
water like a tidal wave or the stream from a broken 
dam. So when our men from herd galloped in, we 
stripped their saddles from tired horses and cinched 
them to fresh ones, while they, that there might be 
no loss of time, bolted their dinners. It took us 
less than an hour to reach the ford, where we un 
loaded the wagon of everything but the chuck-box, 
which was ironed fast. We had an extra saddle 


172 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

in the wagon, and McCann was mounted on a good 
horse, for he could ride as well as cook. Priest 
and I rode the river, selecting a route; and on our 
return, all five of us tied our lariats to the tongue 
and sides of the wagon. We took a running start, 
and until we struck the farther bank we gave the 
wagon no time to sink, but pulled it out of the 
river with a shout, our horses flanks heaving. 
Then recrossing the river, we lashed all the bedding 
to four gentle saddle horses and led them over. 
But to get our provisions across was no easy mat 
ter, for we were heavily loaded, having taken on 
a supply at Doan s sufficient to last us until we 
reached Dodge, a good month s journey. Yet over 
it must go, and we kept a string of horsemen cross 
ing and recrossing for an hour, carrying everything 
from pots and pans to axle grease, as well as the 
staples of life. When we had got the contents of 
the wagon finally over and reloaded, there remained 
nothing but crossing the saddle stock. 

The wagon mules had been turned loose, har 
nessed, while we were crossing the wagon and other 
effects; and when we drove the remuda into the 
river, one of the wheel mules turned back, and in 
spite of every man, reached the bank again. Part 
of the boys hurried the others across, but McCann 
and I turned back after our wheeler. We caught 
him without any trouble, but our attempt to lead 
him across failed. In spite of all the profanity 
addressed personally to him, he proved a credit to 


A BOGGY FORD 173 

Ms sire, and we lost ground in trying to force him 
into the river. The boys across the river watched 
a few minutes, when all recrossed to our assist 
ance. 

&quot;Time s too valuable to monkey with a mule 
to-day,&quot; said Priest, as he rode up; &quot;skin off that 
harness.&quot; 

It was off at once, and we blindfolded and 
backed him up to the river bank; then taking a 
rope around his forelegs, we threw him, hog-tied 
him, and rolled him into the water. With a rope 
around his forelegs and through the ring in the 
bridle bit, we asked no further favors, but snaked 
him ignominiously over to the farther side and re- 
harnessed him into the team. 

The afternoon was. more than half spent when 
we reached the first bogged cattle, and by the time 
the wagon overtook us we had several tied up and 
ready for the mule team to give us a lift. The herd 
had been watered in the mean time and was graz 
ing about in sight of the river, and as we occasion 
ally drifted a freed animal out to the herd, we saw 
others being turned in down the river. About an 
hour before sunset, Flood rode up to us and re 
ported having cleared the island ford, while a mid 
dle outfit under Forrest was working down towards 
it. During the twilight hours of evening, the 
wagon and saddle horses moved out to the herd 
and made ready to camp, but we remained until 
dark, and with but three horses released a number 


174 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

of light cows. We were the last outfit to reach 
the wagon, and as Honeyman had tied up our night 
horses, there was nothing for us to do but eat and 
go to bed, to which we required no coaxing, for 
we all knew that early morning would find us once 
more working with bogged cattle. 

The night passed without incident, and the next 
morning in the division of the forces, Priest was 
again allowed the wagon to do the snaking out 
with, but only four men, counting McCann. The 
remainder of the outfit was divided into several 
gangs, working near enough each other to lend a 
hand in case an extra horse was needed on a pull. 
The third animal we struck in the river that morn 
ing was the black steer that had showed fight the 
day before. Knowing his temper would not be 
improved by soaking in the quicksand overnight, 
we changed our tactics. While we were tying up 
the steer s tail and legs, McCann secreted his team 
at a safe distance. Then he took a lariat, lashed 
the tongue of the wagon to a cottonwood tree, and 
jacking up a hind wheel, used it as a windlass. 
When all was ready, we tied the loose end of our 
cable rope to a spoke, and allowing the rope to coil 
on the hub, manned the windlass and drew him 
ashore. When the steer was freed, McCann, hav 
ing no horse at hand, climbed into the wagon, 
while the rest of us sought safety in our saddles, and 
gave him a wide berth. When he came to his feet 
he was sullen with rage and refused to move out of 


A BOGGY FORD 175 

his tracks. Priest rode out and baited him at a 
distance, and McCann, from his safe position, at 
tempted to give him a scare, when he savagely 
charged the wagon. McCann reached down, and. 
securing a handful of flour, dashed it into his eyes, 
which made him back away; and, kneeling, he fell 
to cutting the sand with his horns. Kising, he 
charged the wagon a second time, and catching the 
wagon sheet with his horns, tore two slits in it like 
slashes of a razor. By this time The Rebel ven 
tured a little nearer, and attracted the steer s atten 
tion. He started for Priest, who gave the quirt 
to his horse, and for the first quarter mile had a 
close race. The steer, however, weakened by the 
severe treatment he had been subjected to, soon 
fell to the rear, and gave up the chase and contin 
ued on his way to the herd. 

After this incident we worked down the river 
until the outfits met. We finished the work before 
noon, having lost three full days by the quicksands 
of the Canadian. As we pulled into the trail that 
afternoon near the first divide and looked back to 
take a parting glance at the river, we saw a dust 
cloud across the Canadian which we knew must be 
the Ellison herd under Nat Straw. Quince For 
rest, noticing it at the same time as I did, rode 
forward and said to me, &quot; Well, old Nat will get 
it in the neck this time, if that old girl dallies with 
him as she did with us. I don t wish him any bad 
luck, but I do hope he 11 bog enough cattle- to keep 


176 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

his hand in practice. It will be just about his luck, 
though, to find it settled and solid enough to cross.&quot; 
And the next morning we saw his signal in the 
sky about the same distance behind us, and knew 
he had forded without any serious trouble. 


CHAPTER XII 

THE NORTH FORK 

THERE was never very much love lost between 
government soldiers and our tribe, so we swept past 
Camp Supply in contempt a few days later, and 
crossed the North Fork of the Canadian to camp 
for the night. Flood and McCann went into the 
post, as our supply of flour and navy beans was 
running rather low, and our foreman had hopes 
that he might be able to get enough of these 
staples from the sutler to last until we reached 
Dodge. He also hoped to receive some word from 
Lovell. 

The rest of us had no lack of occupation, as a 
result of a chance find of mine that morning. 
Honeyman had stood my guard the night before, 
and in return, I had got up when he was called 
to help rustle the horses. We had every horse 
under hand before the sun peeped over the eastern 
horizon, and when returning to camp with the re- 
muda, as I rode through a bunch of sumach bush, 
I found a wild turkey s nest with sixteen fresh eggs 
in it. Honeyman rode up, when I dismounted, and 
putting them in my hat, handed them up to Billy 
until I could mount, for they were beauties and as 


178 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

precious to us as gold. There was an egg for each 
man in the outfit and one over, and McCann threw 
a heap of swagger into the inquiry, &quot; Gentlemen, 
how will you have your eggs this morning?&quot; just 
as though it was an everyday affair. They were 
issued to us fried, and I naturally felt that the odd 
e gg&amp;gt; by rights, ought to fall to me, but the oppos 
ing majority was formidable, fourteen to one, 
so I yielded. A number of ways were suggested 
to allot the odd egg, but the gambling fever in us 
being rabid, raffling or playing cards for it seemed 
to be the proper caper. Raffling had few advo 
cates. 

&quot;It reflects on any man s raising,&quot; said Quince 
Forrest, contemptuously, &quot;to suggest the idea of 
raffling, when we ve got cards and all night to 
play for that egg. The very idea of raffling for it I 
I d like to see myself pulling straws or drawing 
numbers from a hat, like some giggling girl at a 
church fair. Poker is a science ; the highest court 
in Texas has said so, and I want some little show 
for my interest in that speckled egg. What have I 
spent twenty years learning the game for, will some 
of you tell me ? Why, it lets me out if you raffle 
it. The argument remained unanswered, and the 
play for it gave interest to that night. 

As soon as supper was over and the first guard 
had taken the herd, the poker game opened, each 
man being given ten beans for chips. We had 
only one deck of cards, so one game was all that 


THE NORTH FORK 179 

could be run at a time, but there were six players, 
and when one was frozen out another sat in and 
took his place. As woad was plentiful, we had, 
a good fire, and this with the aid of the cook s/ 
lantern gave an abundance of light. We unrolled 
a bed to serve as a table, sat down on it Indian 
fashion, and as fast as one seat was vacated there 
was a man ready to fill it, for we were impatient 
for our turns in the game. The talk turned on an 
accident which had happened that afternoon. 
While we were crossing the North Fork of the 
Canadian, Bob Blades attempted to ride out of the 
river below the crossing, when his horse bogged 
down. He instantly dismounted, and his horse 
after floundering around scrambled out and up the 
bank, but with a broken leg. Our foreman had 
ridden up and ordered the horse unsaddled and 
shot, to put him out of his suffering. 

While waiting our turns, the accident to the 
horse was referred to several times, and finally 
Blades, who was sitting in the game, turned to us 
who were lounging around the fire, and asked, 
&quot;Did you all notice that look he gave me as I was 
uncinching the saddle? If he had been human, 
he might have told what that look meant. Good 
thing he was a horse and could n t realize.&quot; 

From then on, the yarning and conversation wa? 
strictly horse. 

&quot;It was always a mystery to me,&quot; said Billy 
Honeyman, &quot;how a Mexican or Indian knows so 


180 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

much more about a horse than any of us. I have 
seen them trail a horse across a country for miles, 
riding in a long lope, with not a trace or sign vis 
ible to me. I was helping a horseman once to 
drive a herd of horses to San Antonio from the 
lower Eio Grande country. We were driving them 
to market, and as there were no railroads south 
then, we had to take along saddle horses to ride 
home on after disposing of the herd. We always 
took favorite horses which we did n t wish to sell, 
generally two apiece for that purpose. This time, 
when we were at least a hundred miles from the 
ranch, a Mexican, who had brought along a pet 
horse to ride home, thought he wouldn t hobble 
this pet one night, fancying the animal would n t 
leave the others. Well, next morning his pet was 
missing. We scoured the country around and the 
trail we had come over for ten miles, but no horse. 
As the country was all open, we felt positive he 
would go back to the ranch. 

&quot;Two days later and about forty miles higher 
up the road, the Mexican was riding in the lead 
of the herd, when suddenly he reined in his horse, 
throwing him back on his haunches, and waved for 
some of us to come to him, never taking his eyes 
off what he saw in the road. The owner was rid 
ing on one point of the herd and I on the other. 
We hurried around to him and both rode up at 
the same time, when the vaquero blurted out, 
* There s my horse s track. 


THE NORTH FORK 181 

&quot; * What horse? asked the owner. 

&quot; My own; the horse we lost two days ago, 
replied the Mexican. 

&quot; How do you know it s your horse s track 
from the thousands of others that fill the road ? 
demanded his employer. 

&quot; Don Tomas, said the Aztec, lifting his hat, 
how do I know your step or voice from a thou 
sand others ? 

&quot;We laughed at him. He had been a peon, 
and that made him respect our opinions at least 
he avoided differing with us. But as we drove on 
that afternoon, we could see him in the lead, watch 
ing for that horse s track. Several times he turned 
in his saddle and looked back, pointed to some 
track in the road, and lifted his hat to us. At 
camp that night we tried to draw him out, but he 
was silent. 

&quot;But when we were nearing San Antonio, we 
overtook a number of wagons loaded with wool, ly 
ing over, as it was Sunday, and there among their 
horses and mules was our Mexican s missing horse. 
The owner of the wagons explained how he came 
to have the horse. The animal had come to his 
camp one morning, back about twenty miles from 
where we had lost him, while he was feeding grain 
to his work stock, and being a pet insisted on being 
fed. Since then, I have always had a lot of re 
spect for a Greaser s opinion regarding a horse.&quot; 

&quot;Turkey eggs is too rich for my blood,&quot; said 


182 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

Bob Blades, rising from the game. &quot;I don t care 
a continental who wins the egg now, for whenever 
I get three queens pat beat by a four card draw, 
I have misgivings about the deal. And old Quince 
thinks he can stack cards. He couldn t stack 
hay.&quot; 

&quot;Speaking about Mexicans and Indians,&quot; said 
Wyatt Roundtree, &quot;I ve got more use for a good 
horse than I have for either of those grades of hu 
manity. I had a little experience over east here, 
on the cut off from the Chisholm trail, a few years 
ago, that gave me all the Injun I want for some 
time to come. A band of renegade Cheyennes had 
hung along the trail for several years, scaring or 
begging passing herds into giving them a beef. Of 
course all the cattle herds had more or less strays 
among them, so it was easier to cut out one of 
these than to argue the matter. There was plenty 
of herds on the trail then, so this band of Indians 
got bolder than bandits. In the year I m speak 
ing of, I went up with a herd of horses belonging 
to a Texas man, who was in charge with us. When 
we came along with our horses only six men all 
told the chief of the band, called Running Bull 
Sheep, got on the bluff bigger than a wolf and 
demanded six horses. Well, that Texan wasn t 
looking for any particular Injun that day to give 
six of his own dear horses to. So we just drove 
on, paying no attention to Mr. Bull Sheep. About 
half a mile farther up the trail, the chief overtook 


THE NORTH FORK 183 

us with all his bucks, and they were an ugly look 
ing lot. Well, this time he held up four fingers, 
meaning that four horses would be acceptable. 
But the Texan was n t recognizing the Indian levy 
of taxation that year. When he refused them, the 
Indians never parleyed a moment, but set up a 
1 ki yi and began circling round the herd on their 
ponies, Bull Sheep in the lead. 

&quot;As the chief passed the owner, his horse on a 
run, he gave a special shrill ki yi, whipped a short 
carbine out of its scabbard, and shot twice into 
the rear of the herd. Never for a moment con 
sidering consequences, the Texan brought his six- 
shooter into action. It was a long, purty shot, and 
Mr. Bull Sheep threw his hands in the air and 
came off his horse backward, hard hit. This shoot 
ing in the rear of the horses gave them such a 
scare that we never checked them short of a mile. 
While the other Indians were holding a little pow 
wow over their chief, we were making good time 
in the other direction, considering that we had over 
eight hundred loose horses. Fortunately our wagon 
and saddle horses had gone ahead that morning, 
but in the run we overtook them. As soon as we 
checked the herd from its scare, we turned them 
up the trail, stretched ropes from the wheels of 
the wagon, ran the saddle horses in, and changed 
mounts just a little quicker than I ever saw it 
done before or since. The cook had a saddle in 
the wagon, so we caught him up a horse, clapped 


184 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

leather on him, and tied him behind the wagon in 
case of an emergency. And you can just bet we 
changed to our best horses. When we overtook 
the herd, we were at least a mile and a half from 
where the shooting occurred, and there was no In 
dian in sight, but we felt that they hadn t given 
it up. We had n t long to wait, though we would 
have waited willingly, before we heard their yells 
and saw the dust rising in clouds behind us. We 
quit the herd and wagon right there and rode for 
a swell of ground ahead that would give us a rear 
view of the scenery. The first view we caught of 
them was not very encouraging. They were riding 
after us like fiends and kicking up a dust like a 
wind storm. We had nothing but six-shooters, no 
good for long range. The owner of the horses ad 
mitted that it was useless to try to save the herd 
now, and if our scalps were worth saving it was 
high time to make ourselves scarce. 

&quot;Cantonment was a government post about 
twenty-five miles away, so we rode for it. Our 
horses were good Spanish stock, and the Indians 
little bench-legged ponies were no match for them. 
But not satisfied with the wagon and herd falling 
into their hands, they followed us until we were 
within sight of the post. As hard luck would 
have it, the cavalry stationed at this post were off 
on some escort duty, and the infantry were useless 
in this case. When the cavalry returned a few 
days later, they tried to round up those Indians, 


THE NORTH FORK 185 

and the Indian agent used his influence, but the 
horses were so divided up and scattered that they 
were never recovered.&quot; 

&quot;And did the man lose his horses entirely?&quot; 
asked Flood, who had anteed up his last bean and 
joined us. 

&quot;He did. There was, I remember, a tin horn 
lawyer up about Dodge who thought he could re 
cover their value, as these were agency Indians and 
the government owed them money. But all I got 
for three months wages due me was the horse I 
got away on.&quot; 

McCann had been frozen out during Roundtree s 
yarn, and had joined the crowd of story-tellers on 
the other side of the fire. Forrest was feeling 
quite gala, and took a special delight in taunting 
the vanquished as they dropped out. 

&quot;Is McCann there?&quot; inquired he, well knowing 
he was. &quot;I just wanted to ask, would it be any 
trouble to poach that egg for my breakfast and 
serve it with a bit of toast; I m feeling a little 
bit dainty. You 11 poach it for me, won t you, 
please?&quot; 

McCann never moved a muscle as he replied, 
&quot;Will you please go to hell? &quot; 

The story-telling continued for some time, and 
while Fox Quarternight was regaling us with the 
history of a little black mare that a neighbor of 
tneirs in Kentucky owned, a dispute arose in the 
card game regarding the rules of discard and draw. 


186 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

&quot;I m too old a girl,&quot; said The Eebel, angrily, 
to Forrest, &quot;to allow a pullet like you to teach me 
this game. When it s my deal, I 11 discard just 
when I please, and it s none of your business so 
long as I keep within the rules of the game ; &quot; 
which sounded final, and the game continued. 

Quarternight picked up the broken thread of his 
narrative, and the first warning we had of the late 
ness of the hour was Bull Durham calling to us 
from the game, &quot; One of you fellows can have my 
place, just as soon as we play this jack pot. I Ve 
got to saddle my horse and get ready for our 
guard. Oh, I m on velvet, anyhow, and before 
this game ends, I 11 make old Quince curl his tails 
I ve got him going south now.&quot; 

It took me only a few minutes to lose my chance 
at the turkey egg, and I sought my blankets. At 
one A. M.,when our guard was called, the beans 
were almost equally divided among Priest, Stall- 
ings, and Durham; and in view of the fact that 
Forrest, whom we all wanted to see beaten, had 
met defeat, they agreed to cut the cards for the 
egg, Stallings winning. We mounted our horses 
and rode out into the night, and the second guard 
rode back to our camp-fire, singing: 

&quot; Two little niggers upstairs in bed, 
One turned ober to de oder an said, 

* How bout dat short nin bread, 
How bout dat short nin bread ? &quot; 


CHAPTER XIII 
DODGE 

AT Camp Supply, Flood received a letter from 
Lovell, requesting him to come on into Dodge 
ahead of the cattle. So after the first night s camp 
above the Cimarron, Flood caught up a favorite 
horse, informed the outfit that he was going to 
quit us for a few days, and designated Quince For 
rest as the segundo during his absence. 

&quot;You have a wide, open country from here into 
Dodge,&quot; said he, when ready to start, &quot;and I 11 
make inquiry for you daily from men coming in, 
or from the buckboard which carries the mail to 
Supply. I 11 try to meet you at Mulberry Creek, 
which is about ten miles south of Dodge. I 11 
make that town to-night, and you ought to make 
the Mulberry in two days. You will see the smoke 
of passing trains to the north of the Arkansaw, 
from the first divide south of Mulberry. When 
you reach that creek, in case I don t meet you, 
hold the herd there and three or four of you can 
come on into town. But I m almost certain to 
meet you,&quot; he called back as he rode away. 

&quot;Priest,&quot; said Quince, when our foreman had 
gone, &quot;I reckon you didn t handle your herd to 


188 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

suit the old man when he left us that time at Buf 
falo Gap. But I think he used rare judgment 
this time in selecting a segundo. The only thing 
that frets me is, I m afraid he 11 meet us before 
we reach the Mulberry, and that won t give me 
any chance to go in ahead like a sure enough fore 
man. Fact is I have business there; I deposited 
a few months wages at the Long Branch gambling 
house last year when I was in Dodge, and failed to 
take a receipt. I just want to drop in and make 
inquiry if they gave me credit, and if the account 
is drawing interest. I think it s all right, for the 
man I deposited it with was a clever fellow and 
asked me to have a drink with him just as I was 
leaving. Still, I d like to step in and see him 
again.&quot; 

Early in the afternoon of the second day after 
our foreman left us, we sighted the smoke of pass 
ing trains, though they were at least fifteen miles 
distant, and long before we reached the Mulberry, 
a livery rig came down the trail to meet us. To 
Forrest s chagrin, Flood, all dressed up and with 
a white collar on, was the driver, while on a back 
seat sat Don Lovell and another cowman by the 
name of McNulta. Every rascal of us gave old 
man Don the glad hand as they drove around the 
herd, while he, liberal and delighted as a bride 
groom, passed out the cigars by the handful. The 
cattle were looking fine, which put the old man in 
high spirits, and he inquired of each of us if our 


DODGE 189 

health was good and if Flood had fed us well. 
They loitered around the herd the rest of the even 
ing, until we threw off the trail to graze and camp 
for the night, when Lovell declared his intention 
of staying all night with the outfit. 

While we were catching horses during the even 
ing, Lovell came up to me where I was saddling 
my night horse, and recognizing me gave me news 
of my brother Bob. &quot; I had a letter yesterday from 
him,&quot; he said, &quot;written from Red Fork, which is 
just north of the Cimarron River over on the Chis- 
holm route. He reports everything going along 
nicely, and I m expecting him to show up here 
within a week. His herd are all beef steers, and 
are contracted for delivery at the Crow Indian 
Agency. He s not driving as fast as Flood, but 
we ve got to have our beef for that delivery in 
better condition, as they have a new agent there 
this year, and he may be one of these knowing 
fellows. Sorry you could n t see your brother, but 
if you have any word to send him, I 11 deliver 
it.&quot; 

I thanked him for the interest he had taken in me, 
and assured him that I had no news for Robert; 
but took advantage of the opportunity to inquire 
if our middle brother, Zack Quirk, was on the trail 
with any of his herds. Lovell knew him, but felt 
positive he was not with any of his outfits. 

We had an easy night with the cattle. Lovell in 
sisted on standing a guard, so he took Rod Wheat s 


190 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

horse and stood the first watch, and after returning 
to the wagon, he and McNulta, to our great interest, 
argued the merits of the different trails until near 
midnight. McNulta had two herds coming in on 
the Chisholm trail, while Lovell had two herds on 
the Western and only one on the Chisholm. 

The next morning Forrest, who was again in 
charge, received orders to cross the Arkansaw 
Eiver shortly after noon, and then let half the out 
fit come into town. The old trail crossed the river 
about a mile above the present town of Dodge City, 
Kansas, so when we changed horses at noon, the 
first and second guards caught up their top horses, 
ransacked their war bags, and donned their best 
toggery. We crossed the river about one o clock 
in order to give the boys a good holiday, the stage 
of water making the river easily fordable. McCann, 
after dinner was over, drove down on the south 
side for the benefit of a bridge which spanned the 
river opposite the town. It was the first bridge 
he had been able to take advantage of in over 
a thousand miles of travel, and to-day he spurned 
the cattle ford as though he had never crossed at 
one. Once safely over the river, and with the 
understanding that the herd would camp for the 
night about six miles north on Duck Creek, six 
of our men quit us and rode for the town in a long 
gallop. Before the rig left us in the morning, 
McNulta, who was thoroughly familiar with Dodge, 
and an older man than Lovell, in a friendly and 


DODGE 191 

fatherly spirit, seeing that many of us were young 
sters, had given us an earnest talk and plenty of 
good advice. 

&quot;I ve been in Dodge every summer since 77,&quot; 
said the old cowman, &quot;and I can give you boys 
some points. Dodge is one town where the aver 
age bad man of the West not only finds his equal, 
but finds himself badly handicapped. The buffalo 
hunters and range men have protested against the 
iron rule of Dodge s peace officers, and nearly 
every protest has cost human life. Don t ever get 
the impression that you can ride your horses into 
a saloon, or shoot out the lights in Dodge ; it may 
go somewhere else, but it don t go there. So I 
want to warn you to behave yourselves. You can 
wear your six-shooters into town, but you d better 
leave them at the first place you stop, hotel, livery, 
or business house. And when you leave town, call 
for your pistols, but don t ride out shooting; omit 
that. Most cowboys think it s an infringement on 
their rights to give up shooting in town, and if it 
is, it stands, for your six-shooters are no match 
for Winchesters and buckshot; and Dodge s of 
ficers are as game a set of men as ever faced 
danger.&quot; 

Nearly a generation has passed since McNulta, 
the Texan cattle drover, gave our outfit this advice 
one June morning on the Mulberry, and in set 
ting down this record, I have only to scan the 
roster of the peace officials of Dodge City to admit 


192 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

its correctness. Among the names that graced the 
official roster, during the brief span of the trail 
days, were the brothers Ed, Jim, and &quot;Bat&quot; 
Masterson, Wyatt Earp, Jack Bridges, &quot;Doc&quot; 
Holliday, Charles Bassett, William Tillman, 
&quot;Shotgun&quot; Collins, Joshua Webb, Mayor A. B. 
Webster, and &quot;Mysterious&quot; Dave Mather. The 
puppets of no romance ever written can compare 
with these officers in fearlessness. And let it be 
understood, there were plenty, to protest against 
their rule ; almost daily during the range season 
some equally fearless individual defied them. 

&quot;Throw up your hands and surrender,&quot; said an 
officer to a Texas cowboy, who had spurred an ex 
citable horse until it was rearing and plunging in 
the street, leveling meanwhile a double-barreled 
shotgun at the horseman. 

&quot;Not to you, you white-livered s of a b ,&quot; 
was the instant reply, accompanied by a shot. 

The officer staggered back mortally wounded, 
but recovered himself, and the next instant the 
cowboy reeled from his saddle, a load of buckshot 
through his breast. 

After the boys left us for town, the remainder 
of us, belonging to the third and fourth guard, 
grazed the cattle forward leisurely during the af 
ternoon. Through cattle herds were in sight both 
up and down the river on either side, and on cross 
ing the Mulberry the day before, we learned that 
several herds were holding out as far south as that 


DODGE 193 

stream, while McNulta had reported over forty 
herds as having already passed northward on the 
trail. Dodge was the meeting point for buyers 
from every quarter. Often herds would sell at 
Dodge whose destination for delivery was beyond 
the Yellowstone in Montana. Herds frequently 
changed owners when the buyer never saw the cat 
tle. A yearling was a yearling and a two year old 
was a two year old, and the seller s word, that 
they were &quot; as good or better than the string I sold 
you last year,&quot; was sufficient. Cattle were clas 
sified as northern, central, and southern animals, 
and, except in case of severe drouth in the preced 
ing years, were pretty nearly uniform in size 
throughout each section. The prairie section of 
the State left its indelible imprint on the cattle 
bred in the open country, while the coast, as well 
as the piney woods and black-jack sections, did the 
same, thus making classification easy. 

McCann overtook us early in the evening, and, 
being an obliging fellow, was induced by Forrest 
to stand the first guard with Honeyman so as to 
make up the proper number of watches, though 
with only two men on guard at a time, for it was 
hardly possible that any of the others would return 
before daybreak. There was much to be seen in 
Dodge, and as losing a night s sleep on duty was 
considered nothing, in hilarious recreation sleep 
would be entirely forgotten. McCann had not 
forgotten us, but had smuggled out a quart bottle 


194 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

to cut the alkali in our drinking water. But a 
quart amongst eight of us was not dangerous, so 
the night passed without incident, though we felt 
a growing impatience to get into town. As we ex 
pected, about sunrise the next morning our men 
off on holiday rode into camp, having never closed 
an eye during the entire night. They brought 
word from Flood that the herd would only graze 
over to Saw Log Creek that day, so as to let the 
remainder of us have a day and night in town. 
Lovell would only advance half a month s wages 
twenty-five dollars to the man. It was ample 
for any personal needs, though we had nearly three 
months wages due, and no one protested, for the 
old man was generally right in his decisions. 
According to their report the boys had had a 
hog-killing time, old man Don having been out 
with them all night. It seems that McNulta stood 
in well with a class of practical jokers which in 
cluded the officials of the town, and whenever there 
was anything on the tapis, he always got the word 
for himself and friends. During breakfast Fox 
Quarternight told this incident of the evening. 

&quot; Some professor, a professor in the occult sci 
ences I think he called himself, had written to the 
mayor to know what kind of a point Dodge would 
be for a lecture. The lecture was to be free, but 
he also intimated that he had a card or two on the 
side up his sleeve, by which he expected to graft 
onto some of the coin of the realm from the way- 


DODGE 195 

faring man as well as the citizen. The mayor 
turned the letter over to Bat Master son, the city 
marshal, who answered it, and invited the pro 
fessor to come on, assuring him that he was deeply 
interested in the occult sciences, personally, and 
would take pleasure in securing him a hall and a 
date, besides announcing his coming through the 
papers. 

&quot;Well, he was billed to deliver his lecture last 
night. Those old long horns, McNulta and Lov- 
ell, got us in with the crowd, and while they did 
n t know exactly what was coming, they assured 
us that we couldn t afford to miss it. Well, at 
the appointed hour in the evening, the hall was 
packed, not over half being able to find seats. It 
is safe to say there were over five hundred men, 
present, as it was announced for men only. 
Every gambler in town was there, with a fair 
sprinkling of cowmen and our tribe. At the ap 
pointed hour, Masterson, as chairman, rapped for 
order, and in a neat little speech announced the 
object of the meeting. Bat mentioned the lack of 
interest in the West in the higher arts and sciences, 
and bespoke our careful attention to the subject 
under consideration for the evening. He said he 
felt it hardly necessary to urge the importance of 
good order, but if any one had come out of idle 
curiosity or bent on mischief, as chairman of the 
meeting and a peace officer of the city, he would 
certainly brook no interruption. After a few other 


196 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

appropriate remarks, he introduced the speaker as 
Dr. J. Graves-Brown, the noted scientist. 

&quot;The professor was an oily-tongued fellow, and 
led off on the prelude to his lecture, while the au 
dience was as quiet as mice and as grave as owls. 
After he had spoken about five minutes and was 
getting warmed up to his subject, he made an as 
sertion which sounded a little fishy, and some one 
back in the audience blurted out, That s a 
damned lie. The speaker halted in his discourse 
and looked at Masterson, who arose, and, drawing 
two six-shooters, looked the audience over as if try 
ing to locate the offender. Laying the guns down 
on the table, he informed the meeting that an 
other interruption would cost the offender his life, 
if he had to follow him to the Rio Grande or the 
British possessions. He then asked the professor, 
as there would be no further interruptions, to pro 
ceed with his lecture. The professor hesitated 
about going on, when Masterson assured him that 
it was evident that his audience, with the exception 
of one skulking coyote, was deeply interested in 
the subject, but that no one man could interfere 
with the freedom of speech in Dodge as long as 
it was a free country and he was city marshal. 
After this little talk, the speaker braced up and 
launched out again on his lecture. When he was 
once more under good headway, he had occasion 
to relate an exhibition which he had witnessed 
while studying his profession in India. The inci- 


DODGE 197 

dent related was a trifle rank for any one to swal 
low raw, when the same party who had interrupted 
before sang out, That s another damn lie. 

&quot;Masterson came to his feet like a flash, a gun 
in each hand, saying, Stand up, you measly skunk, 
so I can see you. Half a dozen men rose in dif 
ferent parts of the house and cut loose at him, 
and as they did so the lights went out and the 
room filled with smoke. Masterson was blazing 
away with two guns, which so lighted up the rostrum 
that we could see the professor crouching under the 
table. Of course they were using blank cartridges, 
but the audience raised the long yell and poured 
out through the windows and doors, and the lecture 
was over. A couple of police came in later, so 
McNulta said, escorted the professor to his room 
in the hotel, and quietly advised him that Dodge 
was hardly capable of appreciating anything so 
advanced as a lecture on the occult sciences.&quot; 

Breakfast over, Honeyman ran in the remuda, 
and we caught the best horses in our mounts, on 
which to pay our respects to Dodge. Forrest de 
tailed Rod Wheat to wrangle the horses, for we 
intended to take Honeyman with us. As it was 
only about six miles over to the Saw Log, Quince 
advised that they graze along Duck Creek until 
after dinner, and then graze over to the former 
stream during the afternoon. Before leaving, we 
rode over and looked out the trail after it left 
Duck, for it was quite possible that we might re- 


198 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

turn during the night; and we requested McCann 
to hang out the lantern, elevated on the end of 
the wagon tongue, as a beacon. After taking our 
bearings, we reined southward over the divide to 
Dodge. 

&quot;The very first thing I do,&quot; said Quince For 
rest, as we rode leisurely along, &quot;after I get a 
shave and hair-cut and buy what few tricks I need, 
is to hunt up that gambler in the Long Branch, 
and ask him to take a drink with me I took the 
parting one on him. Then I 11 simply set in and 
win back every dollar I lost there last year. 
There s something in this northern air that I 
breathe in this morning that tells me that this is 
my lucky day. You other kids had better let the 
games alone and save your money to buy red silk 
handkerchiefs and soda water and such harmless 
jimcracks.&quot; The fact that The Kebel was ten 
years his senior never entered his mind as he gave 
us this fatherly advice, though to be sure the ma 
jority of us were his juniors in years. 

On reaching Dodge, we rode up to the Wright 
House, where Flood met us and directed our caval 
cade across the railroad to a livery stable, the pro 
prietor of which was a friend of Lovell s. We 
unsaddled and turned our horses into a large cor 
ral, and while we were in the office of the livery, 
surrendering our artillery, Flood came in and 
handed each of us twenty-five dollars in gold, warn 
ing us that when that was gone no more would be 


DODGE 

advanced. On receipt of the money, we scattered 
like partridges before a gunner. Within an hour 
or two, we began to return to the stable by ones 
and twos, and were stowing into our saddle pockets 
our purchases, which ran from needles and thread 
to .45 cartridges, every mother s son reflecting the 
art of the barber, while John Officer had his blond 
mustaches blackened, waxed, and curled like a 
French dancing master. &quot;If some of you boys 
will hold him,&quot; said Moss Strayhorn, commenting 
on Officer s appearance, &quot;I d like to take a good 
smell of him, just to see if he took oil up there 
where the end of his neck s haired over.&quot; As 
Officer already had several drinks comfortably 
stowed away under his belt, and stood up strong 
six feet two, none of us volunteered. 

After packing away our plunder, we sauntered 
around town, drinking moderately, and visiting 
the various saloons and gambling houses. I clung 
to my bunkie, The Rebel, during the rounds, for 
I had learned to like him, and had confidence he 
would lead me into no indiscretions. At the 
Long Branch, we found Quince Forrest and Wyatt 
Roundtree playing the faro bank, the former keep 
ing cases. They never recognized us, but were 
answering a great many questions, asked by the 
dealer and lookout, regarding the possible volume 
of the cattle drive that year. Down at another 
gambling house, The Rebel met Ben Thompson, 
a faro dealer not on duty and an old cavalry com- 


200 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

rade, and the two cronied around for over an Lour 
like long lost brothers, pledging anew their friend 
ship over several social glasses, in which I was 
always included. There was no telling how long 
this reunion would have lasted, but happily for my 
sake, Lovell who had been asleep all the morn 
ing started out to round us up for dinner with 
him at the Wright House, which was at that day 
a famous hostelry, patronized almost exclusively 
by the Texas cowmen and cattle buyers. 

We made the rounds of the gambling houses, 
looking for our crowd. We ran across three of 
the boys piking at a monte game, who came with 
us reluctantly; then, guided by Lovell, we started 
for the Long Branch, where we felt certain we 
would find Forrest and Roundtree, if they had 
any money left. Forrest was broke, which made 
him ready to come, and Roundtree, though quite a 
winner, out of deference to our employer s wishes, 
cashed in and joined us. Old man Don could 
hardly do enough for us; and before we could 
reach the Wright House, had lined us up against 
three different bars ; and while I had confidence in 
my navigable capacity, I found they were coming 
just a little too fast and free, seeing I had scarcely 
drunk anything in three months but branch water. 
As we lined up at the Wright House bar for the 
final before dinner, The Rebel, who was standing 
next to me T entered a waiver and took a cigar, 
which I understood to be a hint, and I did likewise. 


DODGE 201 

We had a splendid dinner. Our outfit, with 
McNulta, occupied a ten-chair table, while on the 
opposite side of the room was another large table, 
occupied principally by drovers who were waiting 
for their herds to arrive. Among those at the 
latter table, whom I now remember, was &quot;Uncle&quot; 
Henry Stevens, Jesse Ellison, &quot;Lum&quot; Slaughter, 
John Blocker, Ike Pryor, &quot;Dun &quot; Houston, and last 
but not least, Colonel &quot;Shanghai&quot; Pierce. The 
latter was possibly the most widely known cowman 
between the Rio Grande and the British posses 
sions. He stood six feet four in his stockings, was 
gaunt and raw-boned, and the possessor of a voice 
which, even in ordinary conversation, could be dis 
tinctly heard across the street. 

&quot;No, I 11 not ship any more cattle to your 
town,&quot; said Pierce to a cattle solicitor during the 
dinner, his voice in righteous indignation resound 
ing like a foghorn through the dining-room, &quot;un 
til you adjust your yardage charges. Listen ! I 
can go right up into the heart of your city and get 
a room for myself, with a nice clean bed in it, 
plenty of soap, water, and towels, and I can occupy 
that room for twenty-four hours for two bits. 
And your stockyards, away out in the suburbs, 
want to charge me twenty cents a head and let 
my steer stand out in the weather.&quot; 

After dinner, all the boys, with the exception 
of Priest and myself, returned to the gambling 
houses as though anxious to work overtime. Be- 


202 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

fore leaving the hotel, Forrest effected the loan of 
ten from Roundtree, and the two returned to the 
Long Branch, while the others as eagerly sought 
out a monte game. But I was fascinated with the 
conversation of these old cowmen, and sat around 
for several hours listening to their yarns and cattle 
talk. 

&quot;I was selling a thousand beef steers one time 
to some Yankee army contractors,&quot; Pierce was 
narrating to a circle of listeners, &quot;and I got the 
idea that they were not up to snuff in receiving 
cattle out on the prairie. I was holding a herd of 
about three thousand, and they had agreed to take 
a running cut, which showed that they had the 
receiving agent fixed. Well, my foreman and I 
were counting the cattle as they came between us. 
But the steers were wild, long-legged coasters, and 
came through between us like scared wolves. I 
had lost the count several times, but guessed at 
them and started over, the cattle still coming like 
a whirlwind; and when I thought about nine 
hundred had passed us, I cut them off and sang 
out, Here they come and there they go; just an 
even thousand, by gatlins! What do you make 
it, Bill? 

&quot; Just an even thousand, Colonel, replied my 
foreman. Of course the contractors were counting 
at the same time, and I suppose didn t like to 
admit they couldn t count a thousand cattle where 
anybody else could, and never asked for a recount, 


DODGE 203 

but accepted and paid for them. They had hired 
an outfit, and held the cattle outside that night, 
but the next day, when they cut them into car lots 
and shipped them, they were a hundred and eigh 
teen short. They wanted to come back on me to 
make them good, but, shucks ! I was n t responsible 
if their Jim Crow outfit lost the cattle.&quot; 

Along early in the evening, Flood advised us 
boys to return to the herd with him, but all the 
crowd wanted to stay in town and see the sights. 
Lovell interceded in our behalf, and promised to 
see that we left town in good time to be in camp 
before the herd was ready to- move the next morn 
ing. On this assurance, Flood saddled up and 
started for the Saw Log, having ample time to 
make the ride before dark. By this time most of 
the boys had worn off the wire edge for gambling 
and were comparing notes. Three of them were 
broke, but Quince Forrest had turned the tables 
and was over a clean hundred winner for the day. 
Those who had no money fortunately had good 
credit with those of us who had, for there was yet 
much to be seen, and in Dodge in 82 it took 
money to see the elephant. There were several 
variety theatres, a number of dance halls, and 
other resorts which, like the wicked, flourish best 
under darkness. After supper, just about dusk, 
we went over to the stable, caught our horses, 
saddled them, and tied them up for the night. We 
fully expected to leave town by ten o clock, for it 


204 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

was a good twelve mile ride to the Saw Log. In 
making the rounds of the variety theatres and 
dance halls, we hung together. Lovell excused 
himself early in the evening, and at parting we 
assured him that the outfit would leave for camp 
before midnight. We were enjoying ourselves 
immensely over at the Lone Star dance hall, when 
an incident occurred in which we entirely neglected 
the good advice of McNulta, and had the sensation 
of hearing lead whistle and cry around our ears 
before we got away from town. 

Quince Forrest was spending his winnings as 
well as drinking freely, and at the end of a quad 
rille gave vent to his hilarity in an old-fashioned 
Comanche yell. The bouncer of the dance hall of 
course had his eye on our crowd, and at the end of 
a change, took Quince to task. He was a surly 
brute, and instead of couching his request in ap 
propriate language, threatened to throw him out of 
the house. Forrest stood like one absent-minded 
and took the abuse, for physically he was no match 
for the bouncer, who was armed, moreover, and 
wore an officer s star. I was dancing in the same 
set with a red-headed, freckled -faced girl, who 
clutched my arm and wished to know if my friend 
was armed. I assured her that he was not, or we 
would have had notice of it before the bouncer s 
invective was ended. At the conclusion of the 
dance, Quince and The Rebel passed out, giving 
the rest of us the word to remain as though no- 


DODGE 205 

thing was wrong. In the course of half an hour, 
Priest returned and asked us to take our leave one 
at a time without attracting any attention, and 
meet at the stable. I remained until the last, 
and noticed The Kebel and the bouncer taking 
a drink together at the bar, the former appar 
ently in a most amiable mood. We passed out to 
gether shortly afterward, and found the other boys 
mounted and awaiting our return, it being now 
about midnight. It took but a moment to secure 
our guns, and once in the saddle, we rode through 
the town in the direction of the herd. On the out 
skirts of the town, we halted. &quot; I m going back 
to that dance hall,&quot; said Forrest, &quot;and have one 
round at least with that woman-herder. No man 
who walks this old earth can insult me, as he did, 
not if he has a hundred stars on him. If any of 
you don t want to go along, ride right on to camp, 
but I d like to have you all go. And when I take 
his measure, it will be the signal to the rest of you 
to put out the lights. All that s going, come on.&quot; 
There were no dissenters to the programme. I 
saw at a glance that my bunkie was heart and soul 
in the play, and took my cue and kept my mouth 
shut. We circled round the town to a vacant 
lot within a block of the rear of the dance hall. 
Honeyman was left to hold the horses; then, tak 
ing off our belts and hanging them on the pommels 
of our saddles, we secreted our six-shooters inside 
the waistbands of our trousers. The hall was still 


206 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

crowded with the revelers when we entered, a few 
at a time, Forrest and Priest being the last to 
arrive. Forrest had changed hats with The Kebel, 
who always wore a black one, and as the bouncer 
circulated around, Quince stepped squarely in 
front of him. There was no waste of words, but 
a gun -barrel flashed in the lamplight, and the 
bouncer, struck with the six-shooter, fell like a 
beef. Before the bewildered spectators could raise 
a hand, five six-shooters were turned into the ceil 
ing. The lights went out at the first fire, and 
amidst the rush of men and the screaming of wo 
men, we reached the outside, and within a minute 
were in our saddles. All would have gone well 
had we returned by the same route and avoided 
the town; but after crossing the railroad track, 
anger and pride having not been properly satisfied, 
we must ride through the town. 

On entering the main street, leading north and 
opposite the bridge on the river, somebody of our 
party in the rear turned his gun loose into the air. 
The Rebel and I were riding in the lead, and at 
the clattering of hoofs and shooting behind us, 
our horses started on the run, the shooting by this 
time having become general. At the second street 
crossing, I noticed a rope of fire belching from a 
Winchester in the doorway of a store building. 
There was no doubt in my mind but we were the 
object of the manipulator of that carbine, and as 
we reached the next cross street, a man kneeling 


i 


DODGE 207 

in the shadow of a building opened fire on us with 
a six-shooter. Priest reined in his horse, and not 
having wasted cartridges in the open-air shooting, 
returned the compliment until he emptied his gun. 
By this time every officer in the town was throwing 
lead after us, some of which cried a little too close 
for comfort. When there was no longer any shoot 
ing on our flanks, we turned into a cross street and 
soon left the lead behind us. At the outskirts of 
the town we slowed up our horses and took it lei 
surely for a mile or so, when Quince Forrest halted 
us and said, &quot;I m going to drop out here and see 
if any one follows us. I want to be alone, so that 
if any officers try to follow us up, I can have it out 
with them.&quot; 

As there was no time to lose in parleying, and 
as he had a good horse, we rode away and left 
him. On reaching camp, we secured a few hours 
sleep, but the next morning, to our surprise, For 
rest failed to appear. We explained the situation 
to Flood, who said if he did not show up by 
noon, he would go back and look for him. We 
all felt positive that he would not dare to go 
back to town ; and if he was lost, as soon as the 
sun arose he would be able to get his bearings. 
While we were nooning about seven miles north 
of the Saw Log, some one noticed a buggy com 
ing up the trail. As it came nearer we saw that 
there were two other occupants of the rig besides 
the driver. When it drew up old Quince, still 


y 208 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

K. wearing The Rebel s hat, stepped out of the rig, 
dragged out his saddle from under the seat, and 
invited his companions to dinner. They both de 
clined, when Forrest, taking out his purse, handed 
a twenty -dollar gold piece to the driver with an 
oath. He then asked the other man what he owed 
him, but the latter very haughtily declined any 
recompense, and the conveyance drove away. 

&quot;I suppose you fellows don t know what all this 
means,&quot; said Quince, as he filled a plate and sat 
down in the shade of the wagon. &quot;Well, that 
horse of mine got a bullet plugged into him last 
night as we were leaving town, and before I could 
get him to Duck Creek, he died on me. I carried 
my saddle and blankets until daylight, when I hid 
in a draw and waited for something to turn up. I 
thought some of you would come back and look for 
me sometime, for I knew you wouldn t understand 
it, when all of a sudden here comes this livery rig 
along with that drummer going out to Jetmore, 
I believe he said. I explained what I wanted, but 
he decided that his business was more important 
than mine, and refused me. I referred the matter 
to Judge Colt, and the judge decided that it was 
more important that I overtake this herd. I d 
have made him take pay, too, only he acted so 
mean about it.&quot; 

After dinner, fearing arrest, Forrest took a 
horse and rode on ahead to the Solomon River. 
We were a glum outfit that afternoon, but after a 


DODGE 209 

good night s rest were again as fresh as daisies. 
When McCann started to get breakfast, he hung 
his coat on the end of the wagon rod, while he 
went for a bucket of water. During his absence, 
John Officer was noticed slipping something into 
Barney s coat pocket, and after breakfast when our 
cook went to his coat for his tobacco, he unearthed 
a lady s cambric handkerchief, nicely embroidered, 
and a silver mounted garter. He looked at the 
articles a moment, and, grasping the situation at 
a glance, ran his eye over the outfit for the cul 
prit. But there was not a word or a smile. He 
walked over and threw the articles into the fire, 
remarking, &quot;Good whiskey and bad women will 
be the ruin of you varmints yet.&quot; 


CHAPTEE XIV 
SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 

HERDS bound for points beyond the Yellowstone, 
in Montana, always considered Dodge as the half 
way landmark on the trail, though we had hardly 
covered half the distance to the destination of our 
Circle Dots. But with Dodge in our rear, all felt 
that the backbone of the drive was broken, and it 
was only the middle of June. In order to divide 
the night work more equitably, for the remainder 
of the trip the first and fourth guards changed, 
the second and third remaining as they were. We 
had begun to feel the scarcity of wood for cook 
ing purposes some time past, and while crossing 
the plains of western Kansas, we were frequently 
forced to resort to the old bed grounds of a year 
or two previous for cattle chips. These chips were 
a poor substitute, and we swung a cowskin under 
the reach of the wagon, so that when we encoun 
tered wood on creeks and rivers we could lay in 
a supply. Whenever our wagon was in the rear, 
the riders on either side of the herd were always 
on the skirmish for fuel, which they left alongside 
the wagon track, and our cook was sure to stow it 
away underneath on the cowskin. 


tfie 


SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 211 


J.n spite of any effort on our part, the length of 
days made long drives the rule. The cattle 
could be depended on to leave the bed ground at 
dawn, and before the outfit could breakfast, secure 
mounts, and overtake the herd, they would often 
have grazed forward two or three miles. Often 
we never threw them on the trail at all, yet when 
it came time to bed them at night, we had covered 
twenty miles. They were long, monotonous days ; 
for we were always sixteen to eighteen hours in 
the saddle, while in emergencies we got the benefit 
of the limity We frequently saw mirages, though 
we were never led astray by shady groves of tim 
ber or tempting lakes of water, but always kept 
within a mile or two of the trail. The evening of 
the third day after Forrest left us, he returned as 
we were bedding down the cattle at dusk, and on 
being assured that no officers had followed us, re 
sumed his place with the herd. He had not even 
reached the Solomon River, but had stopped with 
a herd of Millet s on Big Boggy. This creek he 
reported as bottomless, and the Millet herd as 
having lost between forty and fifty head of cattle 
in attempting to force it at the regular crossing 
the day before his arrival. They had scouted the 
creek both up and down since without finding 
a safe crossing. It seemed that there had been 
unusually heavy June rains through that section, 
which accounted for Boggy being in its dangerous 
condition. Millet s foreman had not considered it 


212 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

necessary to test such an insignificant stream until 
he got a couple of hundred head of cattle floun 
dering in the mire. They had saved the greater 
portion of the mired cattle, but quite a number 
were trampled to death by the others, and now 
the regular crossing was not approachable for the 
stench of dead cattle. Flood knew the stream, and 
so did a number of our outfit, but none of them 
had any idea that it could get into such an impass 
able condition as Forrest reported. 

The next morning Flood started to the east and 
Priest to the west to look out a crossing, for we 
were then within half a day s drive of the creek. 
Big Boggy paralleled the Solomon River in our 
front, the two not being more than five miles 
apart. The confluence was far below in some set 
tlements, and we must keep to the westward of all 
immigration, on account of the growing crops in the 
fertile valley of the Solomon. On the westward, 
had a favorable crossing been found, we would 
almost have had to turn our herd backward, for 
we were already within the half circle which this 
creek described in our front. So after the two 
men left us, we allowed the herd to graze forward, 
keeping several miles to the westward of the trail 
in order to get the benefit of the best grazing. 
Our herd, when left to itself, would graze from 
a mile to a mile and a half an hour, and by the 
middle of the forenoon the timber on Big Boggy 
and the Solomon beyond was sighted. On reach- 


SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 213 

ing this last divide, some one sighted a herd about 
five or six miles to the eastward and nearly parallel 
with us. As they were three or four miles beyond 
the trail, we could easily see that they were graz 
ing along like ourselves, and Forrest was appealed 
to to know if it was the Millet herd. He said not, 
and pointed out to the northeast about the location 
of the Millet cattle, probably five miles in advance 
of the stranger on our right. When we overtook 
our wagon at noon, McCann, who had never left 
the trail, reported having seen the herd. They 
looked to him like heavy beef cattle, and had two 
yoke of oxen to their chuck wagon, which served 
further to proclaim them as strangers. 

Neither Priest nor Flood returned during the 
noon hour, and when the herd refused to lie down 
and rest longer, we grazed them forward till the 
fringe of timber which grew along the stream 
loomed up not a mile distant in our front. From 
the course we were traveling, we would strike the 
creek several miles above the regular crossing, and 
as Forrest reported that Millet was holding below 
the old crossing on a small rivulet, all we could do 
was to hold our wagon in the rear, and await the 
return of our men out on scout for a ford. Priest 
was the first to return, with word that he had rid 
den the creek out for twenty-five miles and had 
found no crossing that would be safe for a mud 
turtle. On hearing this, we left two men with the 
herd, and the rest of the outfit took the wagon 9 


214 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

went on to Boggy, and made camp. It was a de 
ceptive-looking stream, not over fifty or sixty feet 
wide. In places the current barely moved, shal 
lowing and deepening, from a few inches in places 
to several feet in others, with an occasional pool 
that would swim a horse. We probed it with poles 
until we were satisfied that we were up against a 
proposition different from anything we had yet en 
countered. While we were discussing the situa 
tion, a stranger rode up on a fine roan horse, and 
inquired for our foreman. Forrest informed him 
that our boss was away looking for a crossing, but 
we were expecting his return at any time; and 
invited the stranger to dismount. He did so, and 
threw himself down in the shade of our wagon. 
He was a small, boyish-looking fellow, of sandy 
complexion, not much, if any, over twenty years 
old, and smiled continuously. 

&quot;My name is Pete Slaughter,&quot; said he, by way 
of introduction, &quot;and I ve got a herd of twenty- 
eight hundred beef steers, beyond the trail and a 
few miles back. I ve been riding since daybreak 
down the creek, and I m prepared to state that the 
chance of crossing is as good right here as any 
where. I wanted to see your foreman, and if he 11 
help, we 11 bridge her. I ve been down to see 
this other outfit, but they ridicule the idea, though 
I think they 11 come around all right. I borrowed 
their axe, and to-morrow morning you 11 see me 
with my outfit cutting timber to bridge Big Boggy. 


SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 215 

That s right, boys; it s the only thing to do. 
The trouble is I ve only got eight men all told. I 
don t aim to travel over eight or ten miles a day, 
so I don t need a big outfit. You say your fore 
man s name is Flood? Well, if he don t return 
before I go, some of you tell him that he s wast 
ing good time looking for a ford, for there ain t 
none.&quot; 

In the conversation which followed, we learned 
that Slaughter was driving for his brother Lum, a 
widely known cowman and drover, whom we had 
seen in Dodge. He had started with the grass 
from north Texas, and by the time he reached the 
Platte, many of his herd would be fit to ship to 
market, and what were not would be in good de 
mand as feeders in the corn belt of eastern Ne 
braska. He asked if we had seen his herd during 
the morning, and on hearing we had, got up and 
asked McCann to let him see our axe. This he 
gave a critical examination, before he mounted his 
horse to go, and on leaving said, 

&quot;If your foreman don t want to help build a 
bridge, I want to borrow that axe of yours. But 
you fellows talk to him. If any of you boys has 
ever been over on the Chisholm trail, you will re 
member the bridge on Rush Creek, south of th ) 
Washita River. I built that bridge in a day wit!i 
an outfit of ten men. Why, shucks ! if these out 
fits would pull together, we could cross to-morrow 
evening. Lots of these old foremen don t like to 


216 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

listen to a cub like me, but, holy snakes ! I *ve 
been over the trail oftener than any of them. 
Why, when I was n t big enough to make a hand 
with the herd, only ten years old, in the days 
when we drove to Abilene, they used to send me 
in the lead with an old cylinder gun to shoot at 
the buffalo and scare them off the trail. And I ve 
made the trip every year since. So you tell Flood 
when he comes in, that Pete Slaughter was here, 
and that he s going to build a bridge, and would 
like to have him and his outfit help.&quot; 

Had it not been for his youth and perpetual 
smile, we might have taken young Slaughter more 
seriously, for both Quince Forrest and The Rebel 
remembered the bridge on Rush Creek over on 
the Chisholm. Still there was an air of confident 
assurance in the young fellow ; and the fact that 
he was the trusted foreman of Lum Slaughter, in 
charge of a valuable herd of cattle, carried weight 
with those who knew that drover. The most un 
welcome thought in the project was that it required 
the swinging of an axe to fell trees and to cut them 
into the necessary lengths, and, as I have said be 
fore, the Texan never took kindly to manual labor. 
But Priest looked favorably on the suggestion, and 
so enlisted my support, and even pointed out a 
spot where timber was most abundant as a suit 
able place to build the bridge. 

&quot;Hell s fire,&quot; said Joe Stallings. with infinite 
contempt, &quot;there s thousands of places to build a 


SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 217 

bridge, and the timber s there, but the idea is to 
cut it.&quot; And his sentiments found a hearty ap 
proval in the majority of the outfit. 

Flood returned late that evening, having ridden 
as far down the creek as the first settlement. The 
Rebel, somewhat antagonized by the attitude of 
the majority, reported the visit and message left 
for him by young Slaughter. Our foreman knew 
him by general reputation amongst trail bosses, 
and when Priest vouched for him as the builder of 
the Rush Creek bridge on the Chisholm trail, Mood 
said, &quot;Why, I crossed my herd four years ago on 
that Rush Creek bridge within a week after it was 
built, and wondered who it could be that had the 
nerve to undertake that task. Rush is n t over half 
as wide a bayou as Boggy, but she s a true little 
sister to this miry slough. So he s going to build 
a bridge anyhow, is he? &quot; 

The next morning young Slaughter was at our 
camp before sunrise, and never once mentioning 
his business or waiting for the formality of an in 
vitation, proceeded to pour out a tin cup of coffee 
and otherwise provide himself with a substantial 
breakfast. There was something amusing in the 
audacity of the fellow which all of us liked, though 
he was fifteen years the junior of our foreman. 
McCann pointed out Flood to him, and taking his 
well-loaded plate, he went over and sat down by 
our foreman, and while he ate talked rapidly, to 
enlist our outfit in the building of the bridge. 


218 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

During breakfast, the outfit listened to the two 
bosses as they discussed the feasibility of the 
project, Slaughter enthusiastic, Flood reserved, 
and asking all sorts of questions as to the mode 
of procedure. Young Pete met every question 
with promptness, and assured our foreman that 
the building of bridges was his long suit. After 
breakfast, the two foremen rode off down the creek 
together, and within half an hour Slaughter s 
wagon and remuda pulled up within sight of the 
regular crossing, and shortly afterwards our fore 
man returned, and ordered our wagon to pull down 
to a clump of cottonwoods which grew about half 
a mile below our camp. Two men were detailed 
to look after our herd during the day, and the 
remainder of us returned with our foreman to the 
site selected for the bridge. On our arrival three 
axes were swinging against as many cottonwoods, 
and there was no doubt in any one s mind that we 
were going to be under a new foreman for that 
day at least. Slaughter had a big negro cook who 
swung an axe in a manner which bespoke him a job 
for the day, and McCann was instructed to provide 
dinner for the extra outfit. 

The site chosen for the bridge was a miry bot 
tom over which oozed three or four inches of water, 
where the width of the stream was about sixty feet, 
with solid banks on either side. To get a good 
foundation was the most important matter, but the 
brush from the trees would supply the material for 


SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 219 

that; and within an hour, brush began to arrive, 
dragged from the pommels of saddles, and was piled 
into the stream. About this time a call went out 
for a volunteer who could drive oxen, for the darky 
was too good an axeman to be recalled. As I had 
driven oxen as a boy, I was going to offer my ser 
vices, when Joe Stallings eagerly volunteered in 
order to avoid using an axe. Slaughter had some 
extra chain, and our four mules were pressed into 
service as an extra team in snaking logs. As Mc- 
Cann was to provide for the inner man, the mule 
team fell to me ; and putting my saddle on the nigh 
wheeler, I rode jauntily past Mr. Stallings as he 
trudged alongside his two yoke of oxen. 

About ten o clock in the morning, George Jack- 
lin, the foreman of the Millet herd, rode up with 
several of his men, and seeing the bridge taking 
shape, turned in and assisted in dragging brush for 
the foundation. By the time all hands knocked 
off for dinner, we had a foundation of brush twenty 
feet wide and four feet high, to say nothing about 
what had sunk in the mire. The logs were cut 
about fourteen feet long, and old Joe and I had 
snaked them up as fast as the axemen could get 
them ready. Jacklin returned to his wagon for 
dinner and a change of horses, though Slaughter, 
with plenty of assurance, had invited him to eat 
with us, and when he declined had remarked, with 
no less confidence, &quot;Well, then, you ll be back 
right after dinner. And say, bring all the men 


220 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

you can spare ; and if you ve got any gunny sacks 
or old tarpaulins, bring them; and by all means 
don t forget your spade.&quot; 

Pete Slaughter was a harsh master, considering 
he was working volunteer labor; but then we all 
felt a common interest in the bridge, for if Slaugh 
ter s beeves could cross, ours could, and so could 
Millet s. All the men dragging brush changed 
horses during dinner, for there was to be no pause 
in piling in a good foundation as long as the mate 
rial was at hand. Jacklin and his outfit returned, 
ten strong, and with thirty men at work, the bridge 
grew. They began laying the logs on the brush 
after dinner, and the work of sodding the bridge 
went forward at the same time. The bridge stood 
about two feet above the water in the creek, but 
when near the middle of the stream was reached, the 
foundation gave way, and for an hour ten horses 
were kept busy dragging brush to fill that sink hole 
until it would bear the weight of the logs. We 
had used all the acceptable timber on our side of 
the stream for half a mile either way, and yet there 
were not enough logs to complete the bridge. 
When we lacked only some ten or twelve logs, 
Slaughter had the boys sod a narrow strip across 
the remaining brush, and the horsemen led their 
mounts across to the farther side. Then the axe 
men crossed, felled the nearest trees, and the last 
logs were dragged up from the pommels of our 
saddles. 


SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 221 

It now only remained to sod over and dirt the 
bridge thoroughly. With only three spades the 
work was slow, but we cut sod with axes, and after 
several hours work had it finished. The two yoke 
of oxen were driven across and back for a test, 
and the bridge stood it nobly. Slaughter then 
brought up his remuda, and while the work of 
dirting the bridge was still going on, crossed and 
recrossed his band of saddle horses twenty times. 
When the bridge looked completed to every one 
else, young Pete advised laying stringers across on 
either side; so a number of small trees were felled 
and guard rails strung across the ends of the logs 
and staked. Then more dirt was carried in on 
tarpaulins and in gunny sacks, and every chink 
and crevice filled with sod and dirt. It was now 
getting rather late in the afternoon, but during 
the finishing touches, young Slaughter had dis 
patched his outfit to bring up his herd; and at 
the same time Flood had sent a number of our out 
fit to bring up our cattle. Now Slaughter and the 
rest of us took the oxen, which we had unyoked, 
and went out about a quarter of a mile to meet his 
herd coming up. Turning the oxen in the lead, 
young Pete took one point and Flood the other, 
and pointed in the lead cattle for the bridge. On 
reaching it the cattle hesitated for a moment, and 
it looked as though they were going to balk, but 
fianlly one of the oxen took the lead, and they be 
gan to cross in almost Indian file. They were big 


222 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

four and five year old beeves, and too many of 
them on the bridge at one time might have sunk 
it, but Slaughter rode back down the line of cattle 
and called to the men to hold them back. 

&quot;Don t crowd the cattle,&quot; he shouted. &quot;Give 
them all the time they want. We re in no hurry 
now; there s lots of time.&quot; 

They were a full half hour in crossing, the chain 
of cattle taking the bridge never for a moment 
being broken. Once all were over, his men rode 
to the lead and turned the herd up Boggy, in order 
to have it well out of the way of ours, which were 
then looming up in sight. Slaughter asked Flood 
if he wanted the oxen ; and as our cattle had never 
seen a bridge in their lives, the foreman decided 
to use them ; so we brought them back and met the 
herd, now strung out nearly a mile. Our cattle 
were naturally wild, but we turned the oxen in the 
lead, and the two bosses again taking the points, 
moved the herd up to the bridge. The oxen were 
again slow to lead out in crossing, and several 
hundred head of cattle had congested in front of 
the new bridge, making us all rather nervous, 
when a big white ox led off, his mate following, 
and the herd began timidly to follow. Our cattle 
required careful handling, and not a word was 
spoken as we nursed them forward, or rode through 
them to scatter large bunches. A number of times 
we cut the train of cattle off entirely, as they were 
congesting at the bridge entrance, and, in crossing, 


SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 223 

shied and crowded so that several were forced off 
the bridge into the mire. Our herd crossed in 
considerably less time than did Slaughter s beeves, 
but we had five head to pull out ; this, however, 
was considered nothing, as they were light, and the 
mire was as thin as soup. Our wagon and sad 
dle horses crossed while we were pulling out the 
bogged cattle, and about half the outfit, taking the 
herd, drifted them forward towards the Solomon. 
Since Millet intended crossing that evening, herds 
were likely to be too thick for safety at night. 
The sun was hardly an hour high when the last 
herd came up to cross. The oxen were put in the 
lead, as with ours, and all four of the oxen took 
the bridge, but when the cattle reached the bridge, 
they made a decided balk and refused to follow the 
oxen. Not a hoof of the herd would even set foot 
on the bridge. The oxen were brought back sev 
eral times, but in spite of all coaxing and nursing, 
and our best endeavors and devices, they would not 
risk it. We worked with them until dusk, when 
all three of the foremen decided it was useless to 
try longer, but both Slaughter and Flood promised 
to bring back part of their outfits in the morning 
and make another effort. 

McCann s camp-fire piloted us to our wagon, at 
least three miles from the bridge, for he had laid 
in a good supply of wood during the day; and on 
our arrival our night horses were tied up, and 
everything made ready for the night. The next 


224 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

morning we started the herd, but Flood took four 
of us with him and went back to Big Boggy. The 
Millet herd was nearly two miles back from the 
bridge, where we found Slaughter at Jacklin s 
wagon; and several more of his men were, we 
learned, coming over with the oxen at about ten 
o clock. That hour was considered soon enough 
by the bosses, as the heat of the day would be on 
the herd by that time, which would make them lazy. 
When the oxen arrived at the bridge, we rode out 
twenty strong and lined the cattle up for another 
trial. They had grazed until they were full and 
sleepy, but the memory of some of them was too 
vivid of the hours they had spent in the slimy ooze 
of Big Boggy once on a time, and they began mill 
ing on sight of the stream. &quot;We took them back 
and brought them up a second time with the same 
results. We then brought them around in a cir 
cle a mile in diameter, and as the rear end of the 
herd was passing, we turned the last hundred, and 
throwing the oxen into their lead, started them for 
the bridge; but they too sulked and would have 
none of it. It was now high noon, so we turned 
the herd and allowed them to graze back while we 
went to dinner. Millet s foreman was rather dis 
couraged with the outlook, but Slaughter said they 
must be crossed if he had to lay over a week and 
help. After dinner, Jacklin asked us if we wanted 
a change of horses, and as we could see a twenty 
mile ride ahead of us in overtaking our herd, Flood 
accepted. 


SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 225 

When all was ready to start, Slaughter made a 
suggestion. &quot;Let s go out,&quot; he said, &quot;and bring 
them up slowly in a solid body, and when we get 
them opposite the bridge, round them in gradually 
as if we were going to bed them down. I 11 take 
a long lariat to my white wheeler, and when they 
have quieted down perfectly, I 11 lead old Blanco 
through them and across the bridge, and possibly 
they 11 follow. There s no use crowding them, 
for that only excites them, and if you ever start 
them milling, the jig s up. They re nice, gentle 
cattle, but they ve been balked once and they 
haven t forgotten it.&quot; 

What we needed right then was a leader, for 
we were all ready to catch at a straw, and Slaugh 
ter s suggestion was welcome, for he had estab 
lished himself in our good graces until we pre 
ferred him to either of the other foremen as a 
leader. Riding out to the herd, which were lying 
down, we roused and started them back towards 
Boggy. While drifting them back, we covered 
a front a quarter of a mile in width, and as we 
neared the bridge we gave them perfect freedom. 
Slaughter had caught out his white ox, and we 
gradually worked them into a body, covering per 
haps ten acres, in front of the bridge. Several 
small bunches attempted to mill, but some of us 
rode in and split them up, and after about half an 
hour s wait, they quieted down. Then Slaughter 
rode in whistling and leading his white ox at the 


226 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

end of a thirty-five foot lariat, and as he rode 
through them they were so logy that he had to 
quirt them out of the way. When he came to the 
bridge, he stopped the white wheeler until every 
thing had quieted down ; then he led old Blanco 
on again, but giving him all the time he needed 
and stopping every few feet. We held our breath, 
as one or two of the herd started to follow him, 
but they shied and turned back, and our hopes of 
the moment were crushed. Slaughter detained the 
ox on the bridge for several minutes, but seeing 
. it was useless, he dismounted and drove him back 
into the herd. Again and again he tried the same 
ruse, but it was of no avail. Then we threw the 
herd back about half a mile, and on Flood s sug 
gestion cut off possibly two hundred head, a bunch 
which with our numbers we ought to handle readily 
in spite of their will, and by putting their remuda 
of over a hundred saddle horses in the immediate 
lead, made the experiment of forcing them. We 
took the saddle horses down and crossed and re- 
crossed the bridge several times with them, and as 
the cattle came up turned the horses into the lead 
and headed for the bridge. With a cordon of 
twenty riders around them, no animal could turn 
back, and the horses crossed the bridge on a trot, 
but the cattle turned tail and positively refused 
to have anything to do with it. We held them like 
a block in a vise, so compactly that they could 
not even mill, but they would not cross the bridge. 


SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 227 

When it became evident that it was a fruitless ef 
fort, Jacklin, usually a very quiet man, gave vent 
to a fit of profanity which would have put the 
army in Flanders to shame. Slaughter, somewhat 
to our amusement, reproved him: &quot;Don t fret, 
man ; this is nothing, I balked a herd once in 
crossing a railroad track, and after trying for two 
days to cross them, had to drive ten miles and 
put them under a culvert. You want to cultivate 
patience, young fellow, when you re handling 
dumb brutes.&quot; 

If Slaughter s darky cook had been thereabouts 
then, and suggested a means of getting that herd 
to take the bridge, his suggestion would have been 
welcomed, for the bosses were at their wits ends. 
Jacklin swore that he would bed that herd at the 
entrance, and hold them there until they starved 
to death or crossed, before he would let an animal 
turn back. But cooler heads were present, and 
The Rebel mentioned a certain adage, to the effect 
that when a bird or a girl, he did n t know which, 
could sing and would n t, she or it ought to be 
made to sing. He suggested that we hold the four 
oxen on the bridge, cut off fifteen head of cattle, 
and give them such a running start, they wouldn t 
know which end their heads were on when they 
reached the bridge. Millet s foreman approved of 
the idea, for he was nursing his wrath. The four 
oxen were accordingly cut out, and Slaughter and 
one of his men, taking them, started for the bridge 


228 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

with instructions to hold them on the middle. The 
rest of us took about a dozen head of light cattle, 
brought them within a hundred yards of the bridge, 
then with a yell started them on a run from which 
they could not turn back. They struck the en 
trance squarely, and we had our first cattle on the 
bridge. Two men held the entrance, and we 
brought up another bunch in the same manner, 
which filled the bridge. Now, we thought, if the 
herd could be brought up slowly, and this bridge- 
ful let off in their lead, they might follow. To 
June a herd of cattle across in this manner would 
have been shameful, and the foreman of the herd 
knew it as well as any one present; but no one 
protested, so we left men to hold the entrance se 
curely and went back after the herd. When we 
got them within a quarter of a mile of the creek, 
we cut off about two hundred head of the leaders 
and brought them around to the rear, for amongst 
these leaders were certain to be the ones which had 
been bogged, and we wanted to have new leaders 
in this trial. Slaughter was on the farther end of 
the bridge, and could be depended on to let the 
oxen lead off at the opportune moment. We 
brought them up cautiously, and when the herd 
came within a few rods of the creek the cattle on 
the bridge lowed to their mates in the herd, and 
Slaughter, considering the time favorable, opened 
out and allowed them to leave the bridge on the 
farther side. As soon as the cattle started leaving 


SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 229 

on the farther side, we dropped back, and the lead 
ers of the herd to the number of a dozen, after 
smelling the fresh dirt and seeing the others cross 
ing, walked cautiously up on the bridge. It was 
a moment of extreme anxiety. None of us spoke 
a word, but the cattle crowding off the bridge at 
the farther end set it vibrating. That was enough : 
they turned as if panic-stricken and rushed back 
to the body of the herd. I was almost afraid to 
look at Jacklin. He could scarcely speak, but he 
rode over to me, ashen with rage, and kept repeat 
ing, &quot;Well, wouldn t that beat hell! &quot; 

Slaughter rode back across the bridge, and the 
men came up and gathered around Jacklin. We 
seemed to have run the full length of our rope. 
No one even had a suggestion to offer, and if any 
one had had, it needed to be a plausible one to 
find approval, for hope seemed to have vanished. 
While discussing the situation, a one-eyed T pox- 
marked fellow belonging to Slaughter s outfit gal 
loped up from the rear, and said almost breath 
lessly, &quot;Say, fellows, I see a cow and calf in the 
herd. Let s rope the calf, and the cow is sure to 
follow. Get the rope around the calf s neck, and 
when it chokes him, he s liable to bellow, and that 
will call the steers. And if you never let up on 
the choking till you get on the other side of the 
bridge, I think it 11 work. Let s try it, anyhow.&quot; 

We all approved, for we knew that next to the 
smell of blood, nothing will stir range cattle like 


230 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

the bellowing of a calf. At the mere suggestion, 
Jacklin s men scattered into the herd, and within 
a few minutes we had a rope round the neck of the 
calf. As the roper came through the herd leading 
the calf, the frantic mother followed, with a train 
of excited steers at her heels. And as the calf was 
dragged bellowing across the bridge, it was fol 
lowed by excited, struggling steers who never knew 
whether they were walking on a bridge or on terra 
firma. The excitement spread through the herd, 
and they thickened around the entrance until it 
was necessary to hold them back, and only let 
enough pass to keep the chain unbroken. 

They were nearly a half hour in crossing, for it 
was fully as large a herd as ours; and when the 
last animal had crossed, Pete Slaughter stood up 
in his stirrups and led the long yell. The sun 
went down that day on nobody s wrath, for Jack- 
lin was so tickled that he offered to kill the fattest 
beef in his herd if we would stay overnight with 
him. All three of the herds were now over, but 
had not this herd balked on us the evening be 
fore, over nine thousand cattle would have crossed 
Slaughter s bridge the day it was built.. 

It was now late in the evening, and as we had 
to wait some little time to get our own horses, we 
stayed for supper. It was dark before we set out 
to overtake the herd, but the trail was plain, and 
letting our horses take their own time, we jollied 
along until after midnight. We might have missed 


SLAUGHTER S BRIDGE 231 

the camp, but, by the merest chance, Priest sighted 
our camp-fire a mile off the trail, though it had 
burned to embers. On reaching camp, we changed 
saddles to our night horses, and, calling Officer, 
were ready for our watch. We were expecting 
the men on guard to call us any minute, and while 
Priest was explaining to Officer the trouble we 
had had in crossing the Millet herd, I dozed off to 
sleep there as I sat by the rekindled embers. In 
that minute s sleep my mind wandered in a dream 
to my home on the San Antonio River, but the 
next moment I was aroused to the demands of the 
hour by The Rebel shaking me and saying, 

&quot;Wake up, Tom, and take a new hold. They re 
calling us on guard. If you expect to follow the 
trail, son, you must learn to do your sleeping in 
the winter.&quot; 


CHAPTER XV 

THE BEAVER 

AFTER leaving the country tributary to the Solo 
mon River, we crossed a wide tableland for nearly 
a hundred miles, and with the exception of the 
Kansas Pacific Eailroad, without a landmark wor 
thy of a name. Western Kansas was then classi 
fied, worthily too, as belonging to the Great Amer 
ican Desert, and most of the country for the last 
five hundred miles of our course was entitled to a 
similar description. Once the freshness of spring 
had passed, the plain took on her natural sunburnt 
color, and day after day, as far as the eye could 
reach, the monotony was unbroken, save by the 
variations of the mirages on every hand. Except 
at morning and evening, we were never out of 
sight of these optical illusions, sometimes miles 
away, and then again close up, when an antelope 
standing half a mile distant looked as tall as a 
giraffe. Frequently the lead of the herd would 
be in eclipse from these illusions, when to the men 
in the rear the horsemen and cattle in the lead 
would appear like giants in an old fairy story. If 
the monotony of the sea can be charged with dull 
ing men s sensibilities until they become pirates, 


THE BEAVER 233 

surely this desolate, arid plain might be equally 
charged with the wrongdoing of not a few of our 
craft. 

On crossing the railroad at Grinnell, our fore 
man received a letter from Lovell, directing him 
to go to Culbertson, Nebraska, and there meet a 
man who was buying horses for a Montana ranch. 
Our employer had his business eye open for a pos 
sible purchaser for our remuda, and if the horses 
could be sold for delivery after the herd had reached 
its destination, the opportunity was not to be over 
looked. Accordingly, on reaching Beaver Creek, 
where we encamped, Flood left us to ride through 
to the Republican River during the night. The 
trail crossed this river about twenty miles west of 
Culbertson, and if the Montana horse buyer were 
yet there, it would be no trouble to come up to 
the trail crossing and look at our horses. 

So after supper, and while we were catching up 
our night horses, Flood said to us, &quot;Now, boys, 
I m going to leave the outfit and herd under Joe 
Stallings as segundo. It s hardly necessary to 
leave you under any one as foreman, for you all 
know your places. But some one must be made 
responsible, and one bad boss will do less harm 
than half a dozen that mightn t agree. So you 
can put Honeyman on guard in your place at night, 
Joe, if you don t want to stand your own watch. 
Now behave yourselves, and when I meet you on 
the Republican, I 11 bring out a box of cigars and 


234 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

have it charged up as axle grease when we get 
supplies at Ogalalla. And don t sit up all night 
telling fool stories.&quot; 

&quot;Now, that s what I call a good cow boss,&quot; 
said Joe Stallings, as our foreman rode away in 
the twilight; &quot;besides, he used passable good judg 
ment in selecting a segundo. Now, Honeyman, 
you heard what he said. Billy dear, I won t rob 
you of this chance to stand a guard. McCann, 
have you got on your next list of supplies any jam 
and jelly for Sundays? You have? That s right, 
son that saves you from standing a guard to 
night. Officer, when you come off guard at 3.30 
in the morning, build the cook up a good fire. 
Let me see ; yes, and I 11 detail young Tom Quirk 
and The Rebel to grease the wagon and harness 
your mules before starting in the morning. I 
want to impress it on your mind, McCann, that I 
can appreciate a thoughtful cook. What s that, 
Honeyman? No, indeed, you can t ride my night 
horse. Love me, love my dog; my horse shares 
this snap. Now, I don t want to be under the ne 
cessity of speaking to any of you first guard, but 
flop into your saddles ready to take the herd. My 
turnip says it s eight o clock now.&quot; 

&quot;Why, you ve missed your calling you d 
make a fine second mate on a river steamboat, 
driving niggers,&quot; called back Quince Forrest, as 
the first guard rode away. 

When our guard returned, Officer intentionally 


THE BEAVER 235 

walked across S tailings s bed, and catching his spur 
in the tarpaulin, fell heavily across our segundo. 

&quot;Excuse me,&quot; said John, rising, &quot;but I was just 
nosing around looking for the foreman. Oh, it s 
you, is it? I just wanted to ask if 4.30 would n t 
be plenty early to build up the fire. Wood s a 
little scarce, but I 11 burn the prairies if you say 
so. That s all I wanted to know ; you may lay 
down now and go to sleep.&quot; 

Our camp-fire that night was a good one, and 
in the absence of Flood, no one felt like going to 
bed until drowsiness compelled us. So we lounged 
around the fire smoking the hours away, and in 
spite of the admonition of our foreman, told stories 
far into the night. During the early portion of 
the evening, dog stories occupied the boards. As 
the evening wore on, the subject of revisiting the 
old States came up for discussion. 

&quot;You all talk about going back to the old 
States,&quot; said Joe Stallings, &quot;but I don t take very 
friendly to the idea. I felt that way once and 
went home to Tennessee ; but I want to tell you 
that after you live a few years in the sunny South 
west and get onto her ways, you can t stand it 
back there like you think you can. Now, when I 
went back, and I reckon my relations will average 
up pretty well, fought in the Confederate army, 
vote the Democratic ticket, and belong to the 
Methodist church, they all seemed to be rapidly 
getting locoed. Why, my uncles, when they think 


236 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

of planting the old buck field or the widow s acre 
into any crop, they first go projecting around in 
the soil, and, as they say, analyze it, to see what 
kind of a fertilizer it will require to produce the 
best results. Back there if one man raises ten 
acres of corn and his neighbor raises twelve, the 
one raising twelve is sure to look upon the other 
as though he lacked enterprise or had modest am 
bitions. Now, up around that old cow town, Abi 
lene, Kansas, it s a common sight to see the corn 
fields stretch out like an ocean. 

&quot;And then their stock they are all locoed 
about that. Why, I know people who will pay 
a hundred dollars for siring a colt, and if there s 
one drop of mongrel blood in that sire s veins for 
ten generations back on either side of his ancestral 
tree, it condemns him, though he may be a good 
horse otherwise. They are strong on standard 
bred horses ; but as for me, my mount is all right. 
I would n t trade with any man in this outfit, with 
out it would be Flood, and there s none of them 
standard bred either. Why, shucks! if you had 
the pick of all the standard bred horses in Tennes 
see, you couldn t handle a herd of cattle like ours 
with them, without carrying a commissary with 
you to feed them. No; they would never fit here 
it takes a range-raised horse to run cattle; one 
that can rustle and live on grass. 

&quot;Another thing about those people back in those 
old States : Not one in ten, I 11 gamble, knows the 



THE BEAVER 237 

teacher he sends his children to school to. But 
when he has a promising colt to be shod, the owner 
goes to the blacksmith shop himself, and he and 
the smith will sit on the back sill of the shop, and 
they will discuss how to shoe that filly so as to 
give her certain knee action which she seems to 
need. Probably, says one, a little weight on her 
toe would give her reach. And there they will sit 
and powwow and make medicine for an hour or 
two. And while the blacksmith is shoeing her, 
the owner will tell him in confidence what a won 
derful burst of speed she developed yesterday, 
while he was speeding her on the back stretch. 
And then just as he turned her into the home 
stretch, she threw a shoe and he had to check her 
in ; but if there d been any one to catch her time, 
he was certain it was better than a two- ten clip. 
And that same colt, you could n t cut a lame cow 
out of the shade of a tree on her. A man back 
there he s rich, too, though his father made it 
gave a thousand dollars for a pair of dogs before 
they were born. The terms were one half cash and 
the balance when they were old enough to ship to 
him. And for fear they were not the proper mus 
tard, he had that dog man sue him in court for 
the balance, so as to make him prove the pedigree. 
Now Bob, there, thinks that old hound of his is 
the real stuff, but he wouldn t do now; almost 
every year the style changes in dogs back in the 
old States. One year maybe it s a little white dog 


238 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

with red eyes, and the very next it s a long bench- 
legged, black dog with a Dutch name that right 
now I disremember. Common old pot hounds and 
everyday yellow dogs have gone out of style en 
tirely. No, you can all go back that want to, but 
as long as I can hold a job with Lovell and Flood, 
I 11 try and worry along in my own way.&quot; 

On finishing his little yarn, Stallings arose, say 
ing, &quot;I must take a listen to my men on herd. It 
always frets me for fear my men will ride too near 
the cattle.&quot; 

A minute later he called us, and when several of 
us walked out to where he was listening, we recog 
nized Roundtree s voice, singing: 

&quot; Little black bull came down the hillside, 

Down the hillside, down the hillside, 
Little black bull came down the hillside, 
Long time ago.&quot; 

&quot;Whenever my men sing that song on guard, it 
tells me that everything is amply serene,&quot; remarked 
our segundo, with the air of a field- marshal, as we 
walked back to the fire. 

The evening had passed so rapidly it was now 
almost time for the second guard to be called, and 
when the lateness of the hour was announced, we 
skurried to our blankets like rabbits to their war 
rens. The second guard usually got an hour or 
two of sleep before being called, but in the ab 
sence of our regular foreman, the mice would play. 
When our guard was called at one o clock, as 


THE BEAVER 239 

usual, Officer delayed us several minutes looking 
for his spurs, and I took the chance to ask The 
Rebel why it was that he never wore spurs. 

&quot;It s because I m superstitious, son,&quot; he an 
swered. &quot;I own a fine pair of silver-plated spurs 
that have a history, and if you re ever at Lovell s 
ranch I 11 show them to you. They were given 
to me by a mortally wounded Federal officer the 
day the battle of Lookout Mountain was fought. 
I was an orderly, carrying dispatches, and in pass 
ing through a wood from which the Union army 
had been recently driven, this officer was sitting 
at the root of a tree, fatally wounded. He mo 
tioned me to him, and when I dismounted, he 
said, Johnny Reb, please give a dying man a 
drink. I gave him my canteen, and after drink 
ing from it he continued, I want you to have my 
spurs. Take them off. Listen to their history: 
as you have taken them off me to-day, so I took 
them off a Mexican general the day the American 
army entered the capital of Mexico* &quot; 


CHAPTER XVI 

THE REPUBLICAN 

THE outfit were awakened out of sleep the next 
morning by shouts of &quot; Whoa, mula ! Whoa, you 
mongrel outcasts! Catch them blankety blank 
mules ! &quot; accompanied by a rattle of chain harness, 
and Quince Forrest dashed across our segundo s 
bed, shaking a harness in each hand. We kicked 
the blankets off, and came to our feet in time to see 
the offender disappear behind the wagon, while 
Stallings sat up and yawningly inquired &quot; what 
other locoed fool had got funny.&quot; But the camp 
was awake, for the cattle were leisurely leaving the 
bed ground, while Honeyman, who had been ex 
cused from the herd with the first sign of dawn, 
was rustling up the horses in the valley of the 
Beaver below camp. With the understanding that 
the Republican River was a short three days drive 
from our present camp, the herd trailed out the 
first day with not an incident to break the monotony 
of eating and sleeping, grazing and guarding. But 
near noon of the second day, we were overtaken by 
an old, long-whiskered man and a boy of possibly 
fifteen. They were riding in a light, rickety vehicle, 
drawn by a small Spanish mule and a rough but 


THE REPUBLICAN 241 

clean-limbed bay mare. The strangers appealed to 
our sympathy, for they were guileless in appearance, 
and asked so many questions, indicating that ours 
might have been the first herd of trail cattle they 
had ever seen. The old man was a free talker, and 
innocently allowed us to inveigle it out of him that 
he had been down on the North Beaver, looking up 
land to homestead, and was then on his way up to 
take a look at the lands along the Republican. We 
invited him and the boy to remain for dinner, for in 
that monotonous waste, we would have been only 
too glad to entertain a bandit, or an angel for 
that matter, provided he would talk about some 
thing else than cattle. In our guest, however, we 
found a good conversationalist, meaty with stories 
not eligible to the retired list ; and in return, the 
hospitality of our wagon was his and welcome. The 
travel-stained old rascal proved to be a good mixer, 
and before dinner was over he had won us to a man, 
though Stallings, in the capacity of foreman, felt it 
incumbent on him to act the host in behalf of the 
outfit. In the course of conversation, the old man 
managed to unearth the fact that our acting fore 
man was a native of Tennessee, and when he had 
got it down to town and county, claimed acquaint 
anceship with a family of men in that locality who 
were famed as breeders of racehorses. Our guest 
admitted that he himself was a native of that State, 
and in his younger days had been a devotee of the 
racecourse, with the name of every horseman in 


242 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

that commonwealth as well as the bluegrass regions 
of Kentucky on his tongue s end. But adversity 
had come upon him, and now he was looking out a 
new country in which to begin life over again. 

After dinner, when our remuda was corralled to 
catch fresh mounts, our guest bubbled over with 
admiration of our horses, and pointed out several 
as promising speed and action. We took his praise 
of our horseflesh as quite a compliment, never sus 
pecting flattery at the hands of this nomadic patri 
arch. He innocently inquired which was considered 
the fastest horse in the remuda^ when Stallings 
pointed out a brown, belonging to Flood s mount, 
as the best quarter horse in the band. He gave 
him a critical examination, and confessed he would 
never have picked him for a horse possessing speed, 
though he admitted that he was unfamiliar with 
range-raised horses, this being his first visit in the 
West. Stallings offered to loan him a horse out 
of his mount, and as the old man had no saddle, 
our segundo prevailed on McCann to loan his for 
the afternoon. I am inclined to think there was a 
little jealousy amongst us that afternoon, as to wh&amp;lt;i 
was best entitled to entertain our company; and 
while he showed no partiality, Stallings seemed to 
monopolize his countryman to our disadvantage. 
The two jollied along from point to rear and back 
again, and as they passed us riders in the swing, 
Stallings ignored us entirely, though the old man 
always had a pleasant word as he rode by. 


THE REPUBLICAN 243 

&quot; If we don t do something to wean our segundo 
from that old man,&quot; said Fox Quarternight, as he 
rode up and overtook me, &quot; he s liable to quit the 
herd and follow that old fossil back to Tennessee 
or some other port. Just look at the two now, will 
you ? Old Joe s putting on as much dog as though 
he was asking the Colonel for his daughter. Be 
tween me and you and the gatepost, Quirk, I m a 
little dubious about the old varmint he talks too 
much.&quot; 

But I had warmed up to our guest, and gave 
Fox s criticism very little weight, well knowing if 
any one of us had been left in charge, he would 
have shown the old man similar courtesies. In this 
view I was correct, for when Stallings had ridden 
on ahead to look up water that afternoon, the very 
man that entirely monopolized our guest for an 
hour was Mr. John Fox Quarternight. Nor did 
he jar loose until we reached water, when Stallings 
cut him off by sending all the men on the right of 
the herd to hold the cattle from grazing away until 
every hoof had had ample time to drink. During 
this rest, the old man circulated around, asking 
questions as usual, and when I informed him that, 
with a half mile of water front, it would take a 
full hour to water the herd properly, he expressed 
an innocent amazement which seemed as simple as 
sincere. When the wagon and remuda came up, 
I noticed the boy had tied his team behind our 
wagon, and was riding one of Honeyman s horses 


244 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

bareback, assisting the wrangler in driving the 
saddle stock. After the wagon had crossed the 
creek, and the kegs had been filled and the teams 
watered, Stallings took the old man with him and 
the two rode away in the lead of the wagon and 
remuda to select a camp and a bed ground for 
the night. The rest of us grazed the cattle, now 
thoroughly watered, forward until the wagon was 
sighted, when, leaving two men as usual to nurse 
them up to bed, the remainder of us struck out for 
camp. As I rode in, I sought out my bunkie to get 
his opinion regarding our guest. But The Rebel 
was reticent, as usual, of his opinions of people, 
so my inquiries remained unanswered, which only 
served to increase my confidence in the old man. 

On arriving at camp we found Stallings and 
Honeyman entertaining our visitor in a little game 
of freeze-out for a dollar a corner, while McCann 
looked wistfully on, as if regretting that his culi 
nary duties prevented his joining in. Our arrival 
should have been the signal to our wrangler for 
rounding in the remuda for night horses, but Stall 
ings was too absorbed in the game even to notice 
the lateness of the hour and order in the saddle 
stock. Quarternight, however, had a few dollars 
burning holes in his pocket, and he called our 
horse rustler s attention to the approaching twi 
light ; not that he was in any hurry, but if Honey 
man vacated, he saw an opportunity to get into the 
game. The foreman gave the necessary order, and 


THE REPUBLICAN 245 

Quarternight at once bargained for the wrangler s 
remaining beans, and sat into the game. While 
we were catching up our night horses, Honeyman 
told us that the old man had been joking Stallings 
about the speed of Flood s brown, even going so 
far as to intimate that he did n t believe that the 
gelding could outrun that old bay harness mare 
which he was driving. He had confessed that he 
was too hard up to wager much on it, but he would 
risk a few dollars on his judgment on a running 
horse any day. He also said that Stallings had 
come back at him, more in earnest than in jest, 
that if he really thought his harness mare could 
outrun the brown, he could win every dollar the 
outfit had. They had codded one another until 
Joe had shown some spirit, when the old man sug 
gested they play a little game of cards for fun, 
but Stallings had insisted on stakes to make it 
interesting, and on the old homesteader pleading 
poverty, they had agreed to make it for a dollar 
on the corner. After supper our segundo wanted 
to renew the game ; the old man protested that he 
was too unlucky and could not afford to lose, but 
was finally persuaded to play one more game, &quot; just 
to pass away the evening.&quot; Well, the evening 
passed, and within the short space of two hours, 
there also passed to the supposed lean purse of 
our guest some twenty dollars from the feverish 
pockets of the outfit. Then the old man felt too 
sleepy to play any longer, but loitered around some 


246 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

time, and casually inquired of his boy if he had 
picketed their mare where she would get a good 
bait of grass. This naturally brought up the pro 
posed race for discussion. 

&quot; If you really think that that old bay palfrey of 
yours can outrun any horse in our remuda,&quot; said 
S tailings, tauntingly, &quot; you re missing the chance 
of your life not to pick up a few honest dollars as 
you journey along. You stay with us to-morrow, 
and when we meet our foreman at the Republican, 
if he ? 11 loan me the horse, I 11 give you a race for 
any sum you name, just to show you that I ve got 
a few drops of sporting blood in me. And if your 
mare can outrun a cow, you stand an easy chance 
to win some money.&quot; 

Our visitor met Joe s bantering in a timid man 
ner. Before turning in, however, he informed us 
that he appreciated our hospitality, but that he 
expected to make an early drive in the morning 
to the Republican, where he might camp several 
days. With this the old man and the boy unrolled 
their blankets, and both were soon sound asleep. 
Then our segundo quietly took Fox Quartern ight 
off to one side, and I heard the latter agree to call 
him when the third guard was aroused. Having 
notified Honeyman that he would stand his own 
watch that night, Stallings, with the rest of the out 
fit, soon joined the old man in the land of dreams. 
Instead of the rough shaking which was customary 
on arousing a guard, when we of the third watch 


THE REPUBLICAN 247 

were called, we were awakened in a manner so 
cautious as to betoken something unusual in the 
air. The atmosphere of mystery soon cleared after 
reaching the herd, when Bob Blades informed us 
that it was the intention of Stallings and Quarter- 
night to steal the old man s harness mare off the 
picket rope, and run her against their night horses 
in a trial race. Like love and war, everything is 
fair in horse racing, but the audacity of this pro 
position almost passed belief. Both Blades and 
Durham remained on guard with us, and before we 
had circled the herd half a dozen times, the two 
conspirators came riding up to the bed ground, 
leading the bay mare. There was a good moon 
that night ; Quartern ight exchanged mounts with 
John Officer, as the latter had a splendid night 
horse that had outstripped the outfit in every 
stampede so far, and our segundo and the second 
guard rode out of hearing of both herd and camp 
to try out the horses. 

After an hour, the quartette returned, and under 
solemn pledges of secrecy Stallings said, &quot; Why, 
that old bay harness mare can t run fast enough to 
keep up with a funeral. I rode her myself, and if 
she s got any run in her, rowel and quirt won t 
bring it out. That chestnut of John s ran away 
from her as if she was hobbled and side-lined, while 
this coyote of mine threw dust in her face every 
jump in the road from the word go. If the old 
man is n t bluffing and will back his mare, we 11 


248 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

get back our freeze-out money with good interest. 
Mind you, now, we must keep it a dead secret 
from Flood that we ve tried the mare; he might 
get funny and tip the old man.&quot; 

We all swore great oaths that Flood should 
never hear a breath of it. The conspirators and 
their accomplices rode into camp, and we resumed 
our sentinel rounds. I had some money, and fig 
ured that betting in a cinch like this would be like 
finding money in the road. 

But The Eebel, when we were returning from 
guard, said, &quot; Tom, you keep out of this race the 
boys are trying to jump up. I ve met a good 
many innocent men in my life, and there s some 
thing about this old man that reminds me of people 
who have an axe to grind. Let the other fellows 
run on the rope if they want to, but you keep your 
money in your pocket. Take an older man s advice 
this once. And I m going to round up John in the 
morning, and try and beat a little sense into his 
head, for he thinks it s a dead immortal cinch.&quot; 

I had made it a rule, during our brief acquaint 
ance, never to argue matters with my bunkie, well 
knowing that his years and experience in the ways 
of the world entitled his advice to my earnest con 
sideration. So I kept silent, though secretly wish 
ing he had not taken the trouble to throw cold 
water on my hopes, for I had built several air 
castles with the money which seemed within my 
grasp. We had been out then over four months, 


THE REPUBLICAN 249 

and I, like many of the other boys, was getting 
ragged, and with Ogalalla within a week s drive, 
a town which it took money to see properly, I 
thought it a burning shame to let this opportunity 
pass. When I awoke the next morning the camp 
was astir, and my first look was in the direction of 
the harness mare, grazing peacefully on the picket 
rope where she had been tethered the night before. 

Breakfast over, our venerable visitor harnessed 
in his team, preparatory to starting. Stallings had 
made it a point to return to the herd for a parting 
word. 

&quot; Well, if you must go on ahead,&quot; said Joe to 
the old man, as the latter was ready to depart, 
&quot; remember that you can get action on your money, 
if you still think that your bay mare can outrun 
that brown cow horse which I pointed out to you 
yesterday. You needn t let your poverty inter 
fere, for we 11 run you to suit your purse, light or 
heavy. The herd will reach the river by the mid 
dle of the afternoon, or a little later, and you be 
sure and stay overnight there, stay with us if 
you want to, and we 11 make up a little race for 
any sum you say, from marbles and chalk to a hun 
dred dollars. I may be as badly deceived in your 
mare as I think you are in my horse ; but if you re 
a Tennesseean, here s your chance.&quot; 

But beyond giving Stallings his word that he 
would see him again during the afternoon or even 
ing, the old man would make no definite proposi- 


250 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

tion, and drove away. There was a difference of 
opinion amongst the outfit, some asserting that we 
would never see him again, while the larger por 
tion of us were at least hopeful that we would. 
After our guest was well out of sight, and before 
the wagon started, Stallings corralled the remuda 
a second time, and taking out Flood s brown and 
Officer s chestnut, tried the two horses for a short 
dash of about a hundred yards. The trial con 
firmed the general opinion of the outfit, for the 
brown outran the chestnut over four lengths, start 
ing half a neck in the rear. A general canvass of 
the outfit was taken, and to my surprise there was 
over three hundred dollars amongst us. I had over 
forty dollars, but I only promised to loan mine if it 
was needed, while Priest refused flat-footed either 
to lend or bet his. I wanted to bet, and it would 
grieve me to the quick if there was any chance and 
I did n t take it but I was young then. 

Flood met us at noon about seven miles out from 
the Republican with the superintendent of a cattle 
company in Montana, and, before we started the 
herd after dinner, had sold our remuda, wagon, and 
mules for delivery at the nearest railroad point to 
the Blackfoot Agency sometime during September. 
This cattle company, so we afterwards learned from 
Flood, had headquarters at Helena, while their 
ranges were somewhere on the headwaters of the 
Missouri. But the sale of the horses seemed to 
us an insignificant matter, compared with the race 


THE REPUBLICAN 251 

which was on the tapis ; and when Stallings had 
made the ablest talk of his life for the loan of the 
brown, Flood asked the new owner, a Texan him 
self, if he had any objections. 

&quot; Certainly not,&quot; said he ; &quot; let the boys have a 
little fun. I m glad to know that the remuda has 
fast horses in it. Why did n t you tell me, Flood ? 
I might have paid you extra if I had known I 
was buying racehorses. Be sure and have the 
race come off this evening, for I want to see it.&quot; 

And he was not only good enough to give his 
consent, but added a word of advice. &quot; There s 
a deadfall down here on the river,&quot; said he, &quot; that 
robs a man going and coming. They ve got booze 
to sell you that would make a pet rabbit fight a 
wolf. And if you can t stand the whiskey, why, 
they have skin games running to fleece you as fast 
as you can get your money to the centre. Be sure, 
lads, and let both their whiskey and cards alone.&quot; 

While changing mounts after dinner, Stallings 
caught out the brown horse and tied him behind 
the wagon, while Flood and the horse buyer re 
turned to the river in the conveyance, our foreman 
having left his horse at the ford. When we reached 
the Republican with the herd about two hours before 
sundown, and while we were crossing and watering, 
who should ride up on the Spanish mule but our 
Tennessee friend. If anything, he was a trifle more 
talkative and boastful than before, which was easily 
accounted for, as it was evident that he was drink- 


252 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

ing; and producing a large bottle which had but a 
few drinks left in it, insisted on every one taking 
a drink with him. He said he was encamped half a 
mile down the river, and that he would race his 
mare against our horse for fifty dollars ; that if we 
were in earnest, and would go back with him and 
post our money at the tent, he would cover it. Then 
Stallings in turn became crafty and diplomatic, and 
after asking a number of unimportant questions 
regarding conditions, returned to the joint with the 
old man, taking Fox Quarternight. To the rest of 
us it looked as though there was going to be no 
chance to bet a dollar even. But after the herd 
had been watered and we had grazed out some dis 
tance from the river, the two worthies returned. 
They had posted their money, and all the condi 
tions were agreed upon ; the race was to take place 
at sundown over at the saloon and gambling joint. 
In reply to an earnest inquiry by Bob Blades, 
the outfit were informed that we might get some 
side bets with the gamblers, but the money already 
posted was theirs, win or lose. This selfishness was 
not looked upon very favorably, and some harsh 
comments were made, but Stallings and Quarter- 
night were immovable. 

We had an early supper, and pressing in Mc- 
Cann to assist The Rebel in grazing the herd until 
our return, the cavalcade set out, Flood and the 
horse buyer with us. My bunkie urged me to let 
him keep my money, but under the pretense of 


THE REPUBLICAN 253 

some of the outfit wanting to borrow it, I took 
it with me. The race was to be catch weights, and 
as Rod Wheat was the lightest in our outfit, the 
riding fell to him. On the way over I worked Bull 
Durham out to one side, and after explaining the 
jacketing I had got from Priest, and the partial 
promise I had made not to bet, gave him my forty 
dollars to wager for me if he got a chance. Bull 
and I were good friends, and on the understanding 
that it was to be a secret, I intimated that some of 
the velvet would line his purse. On reaching the 
tent, we found about half a dozen men loitering 
around, among them the old man, who promptly 
invited us all to have a drink with him. A num 
ber of us accepted and took a chance against the 
vintage of this canvas roadhouse, though the warn 
ings of the Montana horse buyer were fully justified 
by the quality of the goods dispensed. While tak 
ing the drink, the old man was lamenting his pov 
erty, which kept him from betting more money, and 
after we had gone outside, the saloonkeeper came 
and said to him, in a burst of generous feeling, 
&quot; Old sport, you re a stranger to me, but I 
can see at a glance that you re a dead game man. 
Now, if you need any more money, just give me 
a bill of sale of your mare and mule, and I 11 ad 
vance you a hundred. Of course I know nothing 
about the merits of the two horses, but I noticed 
your team as you drove up to-day, and if you can 
use any more money, just ask for it.&quot; 


254 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

The old man jumped at the proposition in de* 
lighted surprise ; the two reentered the tent, and 
after killing considerable time in writing out a bill 
of sale, the old graybeard came out shaking a roll 
of bills at us. He was promptly accommodated, 
Bull Durham making the first bet of fifty ; and as 
I caught his eye, I walked away, shaking hands 
with myself over my crafty scheme. When the 
old man s money was all taken, the hangers-on of 
the place became enthusiastic over the betting, and 
took every bet while there was a dollar in sight 
amongst our crowd, the horse buyer even making 
a wager. When we were out of money they offered 
to bet against our saddles., six-shooters, and watches. 
Flood warned us not to bet our saddles, but Quar- 
ternight and Stallings had already wagered theirs, 
and were stripping them from their horses to turn 
them over to the saloonkeeper as stakeholder. I 
managed to get a ten-dollar bet on my six-shooter, 
though it was worth double the money, and a simi 
lar amount on my watch. When the betting ended, 
every watch and six-shooter in the outfit was in the 
hands of the stakeholder, and had it not been for 
Flood our saddles would have been in the same 
hands. 

It was to be a three hundred yard race, with an 
ask and answer start between the riders. Stalling? 
and the old man stepped off the course parallel with 
the river, and laid a rope on the ground to mark 
the start and the finish. The sun had already set 


THE REPUBLICAN 255 

and twilight was deepening when the old man sig 
naled to his boy in the distance to bring up the 
mare. Wheat was slowly walking the brown horse 
over the course, when the boy came up, canter 
ing the mare, blanketed with an old government 
blanket, over the imaginary track also. These pre 
liminaries thrilled us like the tuning of a fiddle for 
a dance. Stallings and the old homesteader went 
out to the starting point to give the riders the 
terms of the race, while the remainder of us con 
gregated at the finish. It was getting dusk when 
the blanket was stripped from the mare and the 
riders began jockeying for a start. In that twi 
light stillness we could hear the question, &quot; Are 
you ready ? &quot; and the answer &quot; No,&quot; as the two 
jockeys came up to the starting rope. But finally 
there was an affirmative answer, and the two horses 
were coming through like arrows in their flight. 
My heart stood still for the time being, and when, 
the bay mare crossed the rope at the outcome an 
easy winner, I was speechless. Such a crestfallen- 
looking lot of men as we were would be hard to 
conceive. We had been beaten, and not only felt 
it but looked it. Flood brought us to our senses 
by calling our attention to the approaching dark 
ness, and setting off in a gallop toward the herd. 
The rest of us trailed along silently after him in 
threes and fours. After the herd had been bedded 
and we had gone in to the wagon my spirits were 
slightly lightened at the sight of the two arch con- 


256 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

spirators, Stallings and Quarternight, meekly riding 
in bareback. I enjoyed the laughter of The Eebel 
and McCann at their plight ; but when my bunkie 
noticed my six-shooter missing, and I admitted 
having bet it, he turned the laugh on me. 

&quot; That s right, son,&quot; he said ; &quot; don t you take 
anybody s advice. You re young yet, but you 11 
learn. And when you learn it for yourself, you 11 
remember it that much better.&quot; 

That night when we were on guard together, 
I eased my conscience by making a clean breast 
of the whole affair to my bunkie, which resulted 
in his loaning me ten dollars with which to redeem 
my six-shooter in the morning. But the other boys, 
with the exception of Officer, had no banker to call 
on as we had, and when Quarternight and Stallings 
asked the foreman what they were to do for saddles, 
the latter suggested that one of them could use the 
cook s, while the other could take it bareback or 
ride in the wagon. But the Montana man inter 
ceded in their behalf, and Flood finally gave in and 
advanced them enough to redeem their saddles. 
Our foreman had no great amount of money with 
him, but McCann and the horse buyer came to the 
rescue for what they had, and the guns were re 
deemed ; not that they were needed, but we would 
have been so lonesome without them. I had worn 
one so long I did n t trim well without it, but toppled 
forward and could n t maintain my balance. But 
the most cruel exposure of the whole affair occurred 


THE REPUBLICAN 257 

when Nat Straw, riding in ahead of his herd, over 
took us one day out from Ogalalla. 

&quot; I met old 4 Says I Littlefield,&quot; said Nat, &quot; back 
at the ford of the Republican, and he tells me that 
they won over five hundred dollars off this Circle 
Dot outfit on a horse race. He showed me a whole 
basketful of your watches. I used to meet old 
Says I over on the Chisholm trail, and he s a 
foxy old innocent. He told me that he put tar on 
his harness mare s back to see if you fellows had 
stolen the nag off the picket rope at night, and when 
he found you had, he robbed you to a finish. He 
knew you fool Texans would bet your last dollar 
on such a cinch. That s one of his tricks. You 
see the mare you tried was n t the one you ran the 
race against. I ve seen them both, and they look 
as much alike as two pint bottles. My, but you 
fellows are easy fish ! &quot; 

And then Jim Flood lay down on the grass and 
laughed until the tears came into his eyes, and we 
understood that there were tricks in other trades 
than ours. 


CHAPTER XVII 

OGALALLA 

FROM the head of Stinking Water to the Soutt 
Platte was a waterless stretch of forty miles. But 
by watering the herd about the middle of one 
forenoon, after grazing, we could get to water again 
the following evening. With the exception of the 
meeting with Nat Straw, the drive was featureless, 
but the night that Nat stayed with us, he regaled 
us with his experiences, in which he was as lucky 
as ever. Where we had lost three days on the 
Canadian with bogged cattle, he had crossed it 
within fifteen minutes after reaching it. His herd 
was sold before reaching Dodge, so that he lost no 
time there, and on reaching Slaughter s bridge, he 
was only two days behind our herd. His cattle 
were then en route for delivery on the Crazy Wo 
man in Wyoming, and, as he put it, &quot; any herd was 
liable to travel faster when it had a new owner.&quot; 

Flood had heard from our employer at Culbert- 
son, learning that he would not meet us at Oga- 
lalla, as his last herd was due in Dodge about 
that time. My brother Bob s herd had crossed 
the Arkansaw a week behind us, and was then 
possibly a hundred and fifty miles in our rear. 


OGALALLA 259 

We all regretted not being able to see old man 
Don, for he believed that nothing was too good for 
his men, and we all remembered the good time he 
had shown us in Dodge. The smoke of passing 
trains hung for hours in signal clouds in our front, 
during the afternoon of the second day s dry drive, 
but we finally scaled the last divide, and there, 
below us in the valley of the South Platte, nestled 
Ogalalla, the Gomorrah of the cattle trail. From 
amongst its half hundred buildings, no church 
spire pointed upward, but instead three fourths 
of its business houses were dance halls, gambling 
houses, and saloons. We all knew the town by 
reputation, while the larger part of our outfit had 
been in it before. It was there that Joel Collins 
and his outfit rendezvoused when they robbed the 
Union Pacific train in October, 77. Collins had 
driven a herd of cattle for his father and brother, 
and after selling them in the Black Hills, gambled 
away the proceeds. Some five or six of his outfit 
returned to Ogalalla with him, and being money 
less, concluded to recoup their losses at the expense 
of the railway company. Going eighteen miles up 
the river to Big Springs, seven of them robbed the 
express and passengers, the former yielding sixty 
thousand dollars in gold. The next morning they 
were in Ogalalla, paying debts, and getting their 
horses shod. In Collins s outfit was Sam Bass, and 
under his leadership, until he met his death the 
following spring at the hands of Texas Rangers, 


260 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

the course of the outfit southward was marked by a 
series of daring bank and train robberies. 

We reached the river late that evening, and 
after watering, grazed until dark and camped for 
the night. But it was not to be a night of rest and 
sleep, for the lights were twinkling across the river 
in town ; and cook, horse wrangler, and all, with 
the exception of the first guard, rode across the 
river after the herd had been bedded. Flood had 
quit us while we were watering the herd and gone 
in ahead to get a draft cashed, for he was as money 
less as the rest of us. But his letter of credit was 
good anywhere on the trail where money was to be 
had, and on reaching town, he took us into a gen 
eral outfitting store and paid us twenty-five dollars 
apiece. After warning us to be on hand at the 
wagon to stand our watches, he left us, and we 
scattered like lost sheep. Officer and I paid our 
loans to The Kebel, and the three of us wandered 
around for several hours in company with Nat 
Straw. When we were in Dodge, my bunkie had 
shown no inclination to gamble, but now he was 
the first one to suggest that we make up a &quot; cow,&quot; 
and let him try his luck at monte. Straw and 
Officer were both willing, and though in rags, I 
willingly consented and contributed my five to the 
general fund. 

Every gambling house ran from two to three 
monte layouts, as it was a favorite game of cow 
men, especially when they were from the far south- 


OGALALLA 261 

ern country. Priest soon found a game to his 
liking, and after watching his play through several 
deals, Officer and I left him with the understand 
ing that he would start for camp promptly at mid 
night. There was much to be seen, though it was 
a small place, for the ends of the earth s iniquity 
had gathered in Ogalalla. We wandered through 
the various gambling houses, drinking moderately, 
meeting an occasional acquaintance from Texas, 
and in the course of our rounds landed in the 
Dew-Drop-In dance hall. Here might be seen the 
frailty of women in every grade and condition. 
From girls in their teens, launching out on a life of 
shame, to the adventuress who had once had youth 
and beauty in her favor, but was now discarded 
and ready for the final dose of opium and the cor 
oner s verdict, all were there in tinsel and paint, 
practicing a careless exposure of their charms. In 
a town which has no night, the hours pass rapidly ; 
and before we were aware, midnight was upon us. 
Keturning to the gambling house where we had 
left Priest, we found him over a hundred dollars 
winner, and, calling his attention to the hour, per 
suaded him to cash in and join us. We felt 
positively rich, as he counted out to each partner 
his share of the winnings ! Straw was missing to 
receive his, but we knew he could be found on the 
morrow, and after a round of drinks, we forded 
the river. As we rode along, my bunkie said, 
&quot; I m superstitious, and I can t help it. But 


262 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

I Ve felt for a day or so that I was in luck, and I 
wanted you lads in with me if my warning was 
true. I never was afraid to go into battle but 
once, and just as we were ordered into action, a 
shell killed my horse under me and I was left be 
hind. I ve had lots of such warnings, good and 
bad, and I m influenced by them. If we get off 
to-morrow, and I m in the mood, I 11 go back 
there and make some monte bank look sick. 

We reached the wagon in good time to be called 
on our guard, and after it was over secured a few 
hours sleep before the foreman aroused us in the 
morning. With herds above and below us, we 
would either have to graze contrary to our course 
or cross the river. The South Platte was a wide, 
sandy river with numerous channels, and as easily 
crossed as an alkali flat of equal width, so far as 
water was concerned. The sun was not an hour 
high when we crossed, passing within two hundred 
yards of the business section of the town, which 
lay under a hill. The valley on the north side of 
the river, and beyond the railroad, was not over 
half a mile wide, and as we angled across it, the 
town seemed as dead as those that slept in the 
graveyard on the first hill beside the trail. 

Finding good grass about a mile farther on, we 
threw the herd off the trail, and leaving orders to 
graze until noon, the foreman with the first and 
second guard returned to town. It was only about 
ten miles over to the North Platte, where water 


OGALALLA 263 

was certain ; and in the hope that we would be per 
mitted to revisit the village during the afternoon, 
we who were on guard threw riders in the lead of 
the grazing cattle, in order not to be too far away 
should permission be granted us. That was a long 
morning for us of the third and fourth guards, with 
nothing to do but let the cattle feed, while easy 
money itched in our pockets. Behind us lay Oga- 
lalla and our craft did dearly love to break the 
monotony of our work by getting into town. But 
by the middle of the forenoon, the wagon and sad 
dle horses overtook us, and ordering McCann into 
camp a scant mile in our lead, we allowed the 
cattle to lie down, they having grazed to content 
ment. Leaving two men on guard, the remainder 
of us rode in to the wagon, and lightened with an 
hour s sleep in its shade the time which hung heavy 
on our hands. We were aroused by our horse 
wrangler, who had sighted a cavalcade down the 
trail, which, from the color of their horses, he knew 
to be our outfit returning. As they came nearer 
and their numbers could be made out, it was evi 
dent that our foreman was not with them, and our 
hopes rose. On coming up, they informed us that 
we were to have a half holiday, while they would 
take the herd over to the North Eiver during the 
afternoon. Then emergency orders rang out to 
Honey man and McCann, and as soon as a change 
of mounts could be secured, our dinners bolted, and 
the herders relieved, we were ready to go. Two of 


264 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

the six who returned had shed their rags and swag 
gered about in new, cheap suits ; the rest, although 
they had money, simply had not had the time to 
buy clothes in a place with so many attractions. 

When the herders came in deft hands transferred 
their saddles to waiting mounts while they swal 
lowed a hasty dinner, and we set out for Ogalalla, 
happy as city urchins in an orchard. We were less 
than five miles from the burg, and struck a free 
gait in riding in, where we found several hundred 
of our craft holding high jinks. A number of herds 
had paid off their outfits and were sending them 
home, while from the herds for sale, holding along 
the river, every man not on day herd was paying 
his respects to the town. We had not been there 
five minutes when a horse race was run through 
the main street, Nat Straw and Jim Flood acting 
as judges on the outcome. The officers of Oga 
lalla were a different crowd from what we had 
encountered at Dodge, and everything went. The 
place suited us. Straw had entirely forgotten our 
&quot; cow * of the night before, and when The Eebel 
handed him his share of the winnings, he tucked it 
away in the watch pocket of his trousers without 
counting. But he had arranged a fiddling match 
between a darky cook of one of the returning out 
fits and a locoed white man, a mendicant of the 
place, and invited us to be present. Straw knew 
the foreman of the outfit to which the darky be 
longed, and the two had fixed it up to pit the two in 


OGALALLA 265 

a contest, under the pretense that a large wager had 
been made on which was the better fiddler. The 
contest was to take place at once in the corral of 
the Lone Star livery stable, and promised to be 
humorous if nothing more. So after the race was 
over, the next number on the programme was the 
fiddling match, and we followed the crowd. The 
Rebel had given us the slip during the race, though 
none of us cared, as we knew he was hungering for 
a monte game. It was a motley crowd which had 
gathered in the corral, and all seemed to know of 
the farce to be enacted, though the Texas outfit to 
which the darky belonged were flashing their money 
on their dusky cook, &quot; as the best fiddler that ever 
crossed Red River with a cow herd.&quot; 

&quot;Oh, I don t know that your man is such an 
Ole Bull as all that,&quot; said Nat Straw. &quot; I just got 
a hundred posted which says he can t even play a 
decent second to my man. And if we can get a 
competent set of judges to decide the contest, I 11 
wager a little more on the white against the black, 
though I know your man is a cracker-jack.&quot; 

A canvass of the crowd was made for judges, but 
as nearly every one claimed to be interested in the 
result, having made wagers, or was incompetent to 
sit in judgment on a musical contest, there was 
some little delay. Finally, Joe Stallings went to 
Nat Straw and told him that I was a fiddler, where 
upon he instantly appointed me as judge, and the 
other side selected a redheaded fellow belonging to 


266 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

one of Dillard Fant s herds. Between the two of 
us we selected as the third judge a bartender whom 
I had met the night before. The conditions gov 
erning the contest were given us, and two chuck 
wagons were drawn up alongside each other, in one 
of which were seated the contestants and in the 
other the judges. The gravity of the crowd was 
only broken as some enthusiast cheered his favor 
ite or defiantly offered to wager on the man of his 
choice. Numerous sham bets were being made, 
when the redheaded judge arose and announced 
the conditions, and urged the crowd to remain quiet, 
that the contestants might have equal justice. Each 
fiddler selected his own piece. The first number 
was a waltz, on the conclusion of which partisan 
ship ran high, each faction cheering its favorite 
to the echo. The second number was a jig, and as 
the darky drew his bow several times across the 
strings tentatively, his foreman, who stood six 
inches taller than any man in a crowd of tall men, 
tapped himself on the breast with one forefinger, 
and with the other pointed at his dusky champion, 
saying, &quot;Keep your eye on me, Price. We re 
going home together, remember. You Hblack rascal, 
you can make a mocking bird ashamed of itself if 
you try. You know I Ve swore by you through 
thick and thin ; now win this money. Pay no at 
tention to any one else. Keep your eye on me.&quot; 

Straw, not to be outdone in encouragement, 
cheered his man with promises of reward, and his 




OGALALLA 267 

faction of supporters raised such a din that Fant s 
man arose, and demanded quiet so the contest could 
proceed. Though boisterous, the crowd was good- 
tempered, and after the second number was dis 
posed of, the final test was announced, which was to 
be in sacred music. On this announcement, the tall 
foreman waded through the crowd, and drawing the 
darky to him, whispered something in his ear, and 
then fell back to his former position. The dusky 
artist s countenance brightened, and with a few 
preliminaries he struck into &quot; The Arkansaw Trav 
eler,&quot; throwing so many contortions into its execu 
tion that it seemed as if life and liberty depended 
on his exertions. The usual applause greeted him 
on its conclusion, when Nat Straw climbed up on 
the wagon wheel, and likewise whispered something 
to his champion. The little, old, weazened mendi 
cant took his cue, and cut into &quot; The Irish Washer 
woman &quot; with a great flourish, and in the refrain 
chanted an unintelligible gibberish like the yelping 
of a coyote, which the audience so cheered that he 
repeated it several times. The crowd now gathered 
around the wagons and clamored for the decision, 
and after consulting among ourselves some little 
time, and knowing that a neutral or indefinite ver 
dict was desired, we delegated the bartender to 
announce our conclusions. Taking off his hat, he 
arose, and after requesting quietness, pretended to 
read our decision. 

&quot; Gentlemen,&quot; he began, &quot; your judges feel a 


268 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

delicacy in passing on the merits of such disthu 
guished artists, but in the first number the deci 
sion is unanimously in favor of the darky, while 
the second is clearly in favor of the white contest 
ant. In regard to the last test, your judges cannot 
reach any decision, as the selections rendered fail 
to qualify under the head of &quot; 

But two shots rang out in rapid succession across 
the street, and the crowd, including the judges and 
fiddlers, rushed away to witness the new excitement. 
The shooting had occurred in a restaurant, and quite 
a mob gathered around the door, when the sheriff 
emerged from the building. 

&quot; It s nothing,&quot; said he ; &quot; just a couple of punch 
ers, who had been drinking a little, were eating a 
snack, and one of them asked for a second dish of 
prunes, when the waiter got gay and told him that 
he could n t have them, that he was full of 
prunes now. So the lad took a couple of shots 
at him, just to learn him to be more courteous 
to strangers. There was no harm done, as the 
puncher was too unsteady.&quot; 

As the crowd dispersed from the restaurant, I 
returned to the livery stable, where Straw and sev 
eral of our outfit were explaining to the old mendi 
cant that he had simply outplayed his opponent, 
and it was too bad that they were not better posted 
in sacred music. Under Straw s leadership, a purse 
was being made up amongst them, and the old 
man s eyes brightened as he received several crisp 


OGALALLA 269 

bills and a handful of silver. Straw was urging 
the old fiddler to post himself in regard to sacred 
music, and he would get up another match for the 
next day, when Rod Wheat came up and breath 
lessly informed Officer and myself that The Rebel 
wanted us over at the Black Elephant gambling 
hall. As we turned to accompany him, we eagerly 
inquired if there were any trouble. Wheat in 
formed us there was not, but that Priest was play 
ing in one of the biggest streaks of luck that ever 
happened. &quot; Why, the old man is just wallowing 
in velvet,&quot; said Rod, as we hurried along, &quot; and 
the dealer has lowered the limit from a hundred to 
fifty, for old Paul is playing them as high as a cat s 
back. He is n t drinking a drop, and is as cool as a 
cucumber. I don t know what he wants with you 
fellows, but he begged me to hunt you up and send 
you to him.&quot; 

The Black Elephant was about a block from the 
livery, and as we entered, a large crowd of by 
standers were watching the playing around one 
of the three monte games which were running. 
Elbowing our way through the crowd, we reached 
my bunkie, whom Officer slapped on the back and 
inquired what he wanted. 

&quot;Why, I want you and Quirk to bet a little 
money for me,&quot; he replied. &quot; My luck is with me 
to-day, and when I try to crowd it, this layout gets 
foxy and pinches the limit down to fifty. Here, 
take this money and cover both those other games. 


270 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

Call out as they fall the layouts, and I 11 pick the 
card to bet the money on. And bet her carelessly, 
boys, for she s velvet.&quot; 

As he spoke he gave Officer and myself each a 
handful of uncounted money, and we proceeded to 
carry out his instructions. I knew the game per 
fectly, having spent several years earnings on my 
tuition, and was past master in the technical Span 
ish terms of the game, while Officer was equally 
informed. John took the table to the right, while 
I took the one on the left, and waiting for a new 
deal, called the cards as they fell. I inquired the 
limit of the dealer, and was politely informed that 
it was fifty to-day. At first our director ordered 
a number of small bets made, as though feeling his 
way, for cards will turn ; but as he found the old 
luck was still with him, he gradually increased 
them to the limit. After the first few deals, I 
caught on to his favorite cards, which were the 
queen and seven, and on these we bet the limit. 
Aces and a &quot; face against an ace &quot; were also favorite 
bets of The Rebel s, but for a smaller sum. Dur 
ing the first hour of my playing to show the luck 
of cards the queen won five consecutive times, 
once against a favorite at the conclusion of a deal. 
My judgment was to take up this bet, but Priest 
ordered otherwise, for it was one of his principles 
never to doubt a card as long as it won for you. 

The play had run along some time, and as I was 
absorbed with watching, some one behind me laid 


OGALALLA 271 

a friendly hand on my shoulder. Having every 
card in the layout covered with a bet at the time, 
and supposing it to be some of our outfit, I never 
looked around, when there came a slap on my back 
which nearly loosened my teeth. Turning to see 
who was making so free with me when I was ab 
sorbed, my eye fell on my brother Zack, but I had 
not time even to shake hands with him, for two 
cards won in succession and the dealer was paying 
me, while the queen and seven were covered to 
the limit and were yet to be drawn for. When the 
deal ended and while the dealer was shuffling, I 
managed to get a few words with my brother, and 
learned that he had come through with a herd be 
longing to one-armed Jim Reed, and that they were 
holding about ten miles up the river. He had met 
Flood, who told him that I was in town ; but as he 
was working on first guard with their herd, it was 
high time he was riding. The dealer was waiting 
for me to cut the cards, and stopping only to wring 
Zack s hand in farewell, I turned again to the 
monte layout. 

Officer was not so fortunate as I was, partly by 
reason of delays, the dealer in his game changing 
decks on almost every deal, and under Priest s 
orders, we counted the cards with every change of 
the deck. A gambler would rather burn money 
than lose to a citizen, and every hoodoo which the 
superstition of the craft could invoke to turn the 
run of the cards was used to check us. Several 


272 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

hours passed and the lamps were lighted, but we 
constantly added to the good to the discomfiture 
of the owners of the games. Dealers changed, but 
our vigilance never relaxed for a moment. Sud 
denly an altercation sprang up between Officer and 
the dealer of his game. The seven had proved the 
most lucky card to John, which fact was as plain to 
dealer as to player, but the dealer, by slipping one 
seven out of the pack after it had been counted, 
which was possible in the hands of an adept in spite 
of all vigilance, threw the percentage against the 
favorite card and in favor of the bank. Officer 
had suspected something wrong, for the seven had 
been loser during several deals, when with a seven- 
king layout, and two cards of each class yet in the 
pack, the dealer drew down until there were less 
than a dozen cards left, when the king came, which 
lost a fifty dollar bet on the seven. Officer laid his 
hand on the money, and, as was his privilege, said 
to the dealer, &quot; Let me look over the remainder of 
those cards. If there s two sevens there, you have 
won. If there is n t, don t offer to touch this bet.&quot; 

But the gambler declined the request, and Officer 
repeated his demand, laying a blue-barreled six- 
shooter across the bet with the remark, &quot; Well, if 
you expect to rake in this bet you have my terms.&quot; 

Evidently the demand would not have stood 
the test, for the dealer bunched the deck among 
the passed cards, and Officer quietly raked in the 
money. &quot; When I want a skin game,&quot; said John, 


OUALALLA 273 

as he arose, &quot; I 11 come back and see you. You 
saw me take this money, did you ? Well, if you ve 
got anything to say, now s your time to spit it out.&quot; 

But his calling had made the gambler discreet, 
and he deigned no reply to the lank Texan, who, 
chafing under the attempt to cheat him, slowly 
returned his six-shooter to its holster. Although 
holding my own in my game, I was anxious to have 
it come to a close, but neither of us cared to sug 
gest it to The Kebel ; it was his money. But Offi 
cer passed outside the house shortly afterward, and 
soon returned with Jim Flood and Nat Straw. 

As our foreman approached the table at which 
Priest was playing, he laid his hand on The Kebel s 
shoulder and said, &quot; Come on, Paul, we re all ready 
to go to camp. Where s Quirk ? &quot; 

Priest looked up in innocent amazement, as 
though he had been awakened out of a deep sleep, 
for, in the absorption of the game, he had taken no 
note of the passing hours and did not know that 
the lamps were burning. My bunkie obeyed as 
promptly as though the orders had been given by 
Don Lovell in person, and, delighted with the turn 
of affairs, I withdrew with him. Once in the street, 
Nat Straw threw an arm around The Rebel s neck 
and said to him, &quot; My dear sir, the secret of suc 
cessful gambling is to quit when you re winner, 
and before luck turns. You may think this is a low 
down trick, but we re your friends, and when we 
heard that you were a big winner, we were deter* 


274 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

mined to get you out of there if we had to rope 
and drag you out. How much are you winner ? &quot; 

Before the question could be correctly answered, 
we sat down on the sidewalk and the three of us 
disgorged our winnings, so that Flood and Straw 
could count. Priest was the largest winner, Officer 
the smallest, while I never will know the amount 
of mine, as I had no idea what I started with. But 
the tellers report showed over fourteen hundred 
dollars among the three of us. My bunkie con 
sented to allow Flood to keep it for him, and the 
latter attempted to hurrah us off to camp, but John 
Officer protested. 

&quot; Hold on a minute, Jim,&quot; said Officer. &quot; We re 
in rags ; we need some clothes. We ve been in 
town long enough, and we ve got the price, but it s 
been such a busy afternoon with us that we simply 
have n t had the time.&quot; 

Straw took our part, and Flood giving in, we 
entered a general outfitting store, from which we 
emerged within a quarter of an hour, wearing 
cheap new suits, the color of which we never knew 
until the next day. Then bidding Straw a hearty 
farewell, we rode for the North Platte, on which 
the herd would encamp. As we scaled the bluffs, 
we halted for our last glimpse of the lights of 
Ogalalla, and The Rebel remarked, &quot; Boys, I ve 
traveled some in my life, but that little hole back 
there could give Natchez-under-the-hill cards and 
spades, and then outhold her as a tough town.&quot; 


CHAPTER XVIII 

THE NOKTH PLATTE 

IT was now July. We had taken on new supplies 
at Ogalalla, and a week afterwards the herd was 
snailing along the North Platte on its way to the 
land of th.e Blackfeet. It was always hard to get 
a herd past a supply point. We had the same 
trouble when we passed Dodge. Our long hours 
in the saddle, coupled with the monotony of our 
work, made these supply points of such interest 
to us that they were like oases in desert lands to 
devotees on pilgrimage to spme consecrated shrine. 
We could have spent a week in Ogalalla and en 
joyed our visit every blessed moment of the time. 
But now, a week later, most of the headaches had 
disappeared and we had settled down to our daily 
work. 

At Horse Creek, the last stream of water before 
entering Wyoming, a lad who cut the trail at that 
point for some cattle companies, after trimming us 
up, rode along for half a day through their range, 
arid told us of an accident which happened about a 
week before. The horse of some peeler, working 
with one of Shanghai Pierce s herds, acted up one 
morning, and fell backward with him so that his gun 


276 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

was accidentally discharged. The outfit lay over a 
day and gave him as decent a burial as they could. 
We would find the new-made grave ahead on Squaw 
Creek, beyond the crossing, to the right hand side in 
A clump of cottonwoods. The next day, while water 
ing the herd at this creek, we all rode over and 
looked at the grave. The outfit had fixed things 
up quite nicely. They had built a square pen of 
rough cotton wood logs around the grave, and had 
marked the head and foot with a big flat stone, 
edged up, heaping up quite a mound of stones to 
keep the animals away. In a tree his name was 
cut sounded natural, too, though none of us 
knew him, as Pierce always drove from the east 
coast country. There was nothing different about 
this grave from the hundreds of others which made 
landmarks on the Old Western Trail, except it was 
the latest. 

That night around the camp-fire some of the 
boys were moved to tell their experiences. This 
accident might happen to any of us, and it seemed 
rather short notice to a man enjoying life, even 
though his calling was rough. 

&quot; As for myself,&quot; said Rod Wheat, &quot; I m not 
going to fret. You can t avoid it when it comes, 
and every now and then you miss it by a hair. I 
had an uncle who served four years in the Confed 
erate army, went through thirty engagements, was 
wounded half a dozen times, and came home well 
and sound. Within a month after his return, a 


THE NORTH PLATTE 277 

plough handle kicked him in the side and we buried 
him within a week.&quot; 

&quot; Oh, well,&quot; said Fox, commenting on the sudden 
call of the man whose grave we had seen, &quot; it won t 
make much difference to this fellow back here when 
the horn toots and the graves give up their dead. 
He might just as well start from there as anywhere. 
I don t envy him none, though ; but if I had any 
pity to offer now, it would be for a mother or sister 
who might wish that he slept nearer home.&quot; 

This last remark carried our minds far away 
from their present surroundings to other graves 
which were not on the trail. There was a long 
silence. We lay around the camp-fire and gazed 
into its depths, while its flickering light threw our 
shadows out beyond the circle. Our reverie was 
finally broken by Ash Borrowstone, who was by 
all odds the most impressionable and emotional one 
in the outfit, a man who always argued the moral 
side of every question, yet could not be credited 
with possessing an iota of moral stamina. Gloomy 
as we were, he added to our depression by relating 
a pathetic incident which occurred at a child s fu 
neral, when Flood reproved him, saying, 

&quot; Well, neither that one you mention, nor this 
one of Pierce s man is any of our funeral. We re 
on the trail with Lovell s cattle. You should keep 
nearer the earth.&quot; 

There was a long silence after this reproof of the 
foreman. It was evident there was a gloom settling 


278 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

over the outfit. Our thoughts were ranging wide. 
At last Rod Wheat spoke up and said that in order 
to get the benefit of all the variations, the blues 
were not a bad thing to have. 

But the depression of our spirits was not so 
easily dismissed. In order to avoid listening to the 
gloomy tales that were being narrated around the 
camp-fire, a number of us got up and went out as 
if to look up the night horses on picket. The 
Rebel and I pulled our picket pins and changed 
our horses to fresh grazing, and after lying down 
among the horses, out of hearing of the camp, for 
over an hour, returned to the wagon expecting to 
retire. A number of the boys were making down 
their beds, as it was already late; but on our 
arrival at the fire one of the boys had just con 
cluded a story, as gloomy as the others which had 
preceded it. 

&quot; These stories you are all telling to-night,&quot; said 
Flood, &quot; remind me of what Lige Link said to 
the book agent when he was shearing sheep. I 
reckon, said Lige, that book of yours has a heap 
sight more poetry in it than there is in shearing 
sheep. I wish I had gone on guard to-night, so I 
could have missed these stories.&quot; 

At this juncture the first guard rode in, having 
been relieved, and John Officer, who had exchanged 
places on guard that night with Moss Strayhorn, 
remarked that the cattle were uneasy. 

&quot; This outfit,&quot; said he, &quot; did n t half water the 


THE NORTH PLATTE 279 

herd to-day. One third of them has n t bedded 
down yet, and they don t act as if they aim to, 
either. There s no excuse for it in a well-watered 
country like this. I 11 leave the saddle on my 
horse, anyhow.&quot; 

&quot; Now that s the result,&quot; said our foreman, &quot; of 
the hour we spent around that grave to-day, when 
we ought to have been tending to our job. This 
outfit,&quot; he continued, when Officer returned from 
picketing his horse, &quot; have been trying to hold 
funeral services over that Pierce man s grave back 
there. You d think so, anyway, from the tales 
they ve been telling. I hope you won t get the 
sniffles and tell any.&quot; 

&quot; This letting yourself get gloomy,&quot; said Officer, 
&quot; reminds me of a time we once had at the J. H. 
camp in the Cherokee Strip. It was near Christ 
mas, and the work was all done up. The boys had 
blowed in their summer s wages and were feeling 
glum all over. One or two of the boys were la 
menting that they had n t gone home to see the old 
folks. This gloomy feeling kept spreading until 
they actually would n t speak to each other. One 
of them would go out and sit on the wood pile for 
hours, all by himself, and make a new set of good 
resolutions. Another would go out and sit on the 
ground, on the sunny side of the corrals, and dig 
holes in the frozen earth with his knife. They 
would n t come to meals when the cook called them. 

&quot; Now, Miller, the foreman, did n t have any 


280 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

sympathy for them; in fact he delighted to see 
them in that condition. He had n t any use for a 
man who was n t dead tough under any condition. 
I ve known him to camp his outfit on alkali water, 
so the men would get out in the morning, and 
every rascal beg leave to ride on the outside circle 
on the morning roundup. 

&quot; Well, three days before Christmas, just when 
things were looking gloomiest, there drifted up from 
the Cheyenne country one of the old timers. None 
of them had seen him in four years, though he had 
worked on that range before, and with the excep 
tion of myself, they all knew him. He was riding 
the chuckline all right, but Miller gave him a wel 
come, as he was the real thing. He had been work 
ing out in the Pan-handle country, New Mexico, 
and the devil knows where, since he had left that 
range. He was meaty with news and scarey stories. 
The boys would sit around and listen to him yarn, 
and now and then a smile would come on their 
faces. Miller was delighted with his guest. He 
had shown no signs of letting up at eleven o clock 
the first night, when he happened to mention where 
he was the Christmas before. 

&quot; There was a little woman at the ranch, said 
he, wife of the owner, and I was helping her get 
up dinner, as we had quite a number of folks at 
the ranch. She asked me to make the bear sign 
doughnuts, she called them and I did, though 
she had to show me how some little. Well, fellows, 


THE NORTH PLATTE 281 

you ought to have seen them just sweet enough, 
browned to a turn, and enough to last a week. All 
the folks at dinner that day praised them. Since 
then, I ve had a chance to try my hand several 
times, and you may not tumble to the diversity of 
all my accomplishments, but I m an artist on bear 
sign. 

&quot; Miller arose, took him by the hand, and said, 
4 That s straight, now, is it ? 

&quot; That s straight. Making bear sign is my 
long suit. 

&quot; Mouse, said Miller to one of the boys, go 
out and bring in his saddle from the stable and put 
it under my bed. Throw his horse in the big pas 
ture in the morning. He stays here until spring ; 
and the first spear of green grass I see, his name 
goes on the pay roll. This outfit is shy on men 
who can make bear sign. Now, I was thinking 
that you could spread down your blankets on the 
hearth, but you can sleep with me to-night. You 
go to work on this specialty of yours right after 
breakfast in the morning, and show us what you 
can do in that line. 

&quot; They talked quite a while longer, and then 
turned in for the night. The next morning after 
breakfast was over, he got the needed articles to 
gether and went to work. But there was a surprise 
in store for him. There was nearly a dozen men 
lying around, all able eaters. By ten o clock he 
began to turn them out as he said he could. When 


282 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

the regular cook had to have the stove to get din 
ner, the taste which we had had made us ravenous 
for more. Dinner over, he went at them again in 
earnest. A boy riding towards the railroad with 
an important letter dropped in, and as he claimed 
he could only stop for a moment, we stood aside 
until he had had a taste, though he filled himself 
like a poisoned pup. After eating a solid hour, 
he filled his pockets and rode away. One of our 
regular men called after him, Don t tell anybody 
what we got. 

&quot; We did n t get any supper that night. Not a 
man could have eaten a bite. Miller made him 
knock off along in the shank of the evening, as he 
had done enough for any one day. The next morn 
ing after breakfast he fell to at the bear sign once 
more. Miller rolled a barrel of flour into the 
kitchen from the storehouse, and told him to fly 
at them. About how many do you think you 11 
want ? asked our bear sign man. 

&quot; That big tub full won t be any too many, 
answered Miller. Some of these fellows have n t 
had any of this kind of truck since they were little 
boys. If this gets out, I look for men from other 
camps. 

&quot;The fellow fell to his work like a thorough 
bred, which he surely was. About ten o clock two 
men rode up from a camp to the north, which the 
boy had passed the day before with the letter. 
They never went near the dug-out, but straight 


THE NORTH PLATTE 283 

to the kitchen. That movement showed that they 
were on to the racket. An hour later old Tom 
Cave rode in, his horse all in a lather, all the way 
from Garretson s camp, twenty-five miles to the 
east. The old sinner said that he had been on 
the frontier some little time, and that there were 
the best bear sign he had tasted in forty years. 
He refused to take a stool and sit down like civil 
ized folks, but stood up by the tub and picked out 
the ones which were a pale brown. 

&quot; After dinner our man threw off his overshirt, 
unbuttoned his red undershirt and turned it in 
until you could see the hair on his breast. Roll 
ing up his sleeves, he flew at his job once more. 
He was getting his work reduced to a science by 
this time. He rolled his dough, cut his dough, and 
turned out the fine brown bear sign to the satisfac 
tion of all. 

&quot; His capacity, however, was limited. About 
two o clock Doc Langford and two of his peelers 
were seen riding up. When he came into the 
kitchen, Doc swore by all that was good and holy 
that he had n t heard that our artist had come back 
to that country. But any one that was noticing 
could see him edge around to the tub. It was 
easy to see that he was lying. This luck of ours 
was circulating faster than a secret amongst women. 
Our man, though, stood at his post like the boy on 
the burning deck. When night came on, he had n t 
covered the bottom of the tub. When he knocked 


THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

off. Doc Langiord and his men gobbled up what 
was left. We gave them a mean look as they rode 
off, but they came back the next day, five strong. 
Our regular men around camp didn t like it. the 
way things were going. They tried to act polite 
to&quot; 

* Calling bear sign doughnuts,* interrupted 
Quince Forrest, &quot;* reminds me what 

&quot; Will you kindly hobble your lip,&quot; said Officer ; 
&quot; I have the floor at present. As I was saying, 
they tried to act polite to company that way, but 
we had n t got a smell the second day. Our man 
showed no signs of fatigue, and told several good 
stories that night. He was tough. The next day 
was Christmas, but he had no respect for a holi 
day, and made up a large batch of dough before 
breakfast. It was a good thing he did, for early 
that morning Original John Smith and four of 
his peelers rode in from the west, their horses all 
covered with frost. They must have started at 
daybreak it was a good twenty-two mile ride. 
They wanted us to believe that they had simply 
come over to spend Christmas with us. Company 
that way, you can t say anything. But the easy 
manner in which they gravitated around that tub 
not even waiting to be invited told a different 
tale. They were not nearly satisfied by noon. 

Then who should come drifting in as we were 
sitting down to dinner, but Billy Dunlap and Jim 
Hale from Quinlin s camp, thirty miles south on 


THE NORTH PLATTE 28&quot; 

the Cimarron. Dunlap always holed up like a 
bear in the winter, and several of the boys spilled 
their coffee at sight of him. He put up a thin ex 
cuse just like the rest. Any one could see through 
it. But there it Was again he was company. 
Lots of us had eaten at his camp and complained 
of his chuck ; therefore, we were nice to him. 
Miller called our man out behind the kitchen and 
told him to knock off if he wanted to. But he 
would n t do it. He was clean strain I *m not 
talking. Dunlap ate hardly any dinner, we noticed, 
and the very first batch of bear sign turned out, he 
loads up a tin plate and goes out and sits behind 
the storehouse in the sun, all alone in his glory. 
He satisfied himself out of the tub after that. 

&quot; He and Hale stayed all night, and Dunlap 
kept every one awake with the nightmare. Yes, 
kept fighting the demons all night. The next 
morning Miller told him that he was surprised 
that an old gray-haired man like him did n t know 
when he had enough, but must gorge himself like 
some silly kid. Miller told him that he was wel 
come to stay a week if he wanted to, but he would 
have to sleep in the stable. It was cruel to the 
horses, but the men were entitled to a little sleep, 
at least in the winter. Miller tempered his re 
marks with all kindness, and Dunlap acted as if he 
was sorry, and as good as admitted that his years 
were telling on him. That day our man filled his 
tub. He was simply an artist on bear sign.&quot; 


286 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

&quot; Calling bear sign doughnuts,&quot; cut in Quince 
Forrest again, as soon as he saw an opening, &quot; re 
minds me what the little boy said who went &quot; 

But there came a rumbling of many hoofs from 
the bed ground. &quot; There s hell for you,&quot; said half 
a dozen men in a chorus, and every man in camp 
ran for his horse but the cook, and he climbed into 
the wagon. The roar of the running cattle was 
like approaching thunder, but the flash from the 
six-shooters of the men on guard indicated they 
were quartering by camp, heading out towards the 
hills. Horses became so excited they were diffi 
cult to bridle. There was plenty of earnest and 
sincere swearing done that night. All the fine 
sentiment and melancholy of the hour previous 
vanished in a moment, as the men threw them 
selves into their saddles, riding, deep, for it was 
uncertain footing to horses. 

Within two minutes from the time the herd left 
the bed ground, fourteen of us rode on their left 
point and across their front, firing our six-shooters 
in their faces. By the time the herd had covered a 
scant mile, we had thrown them into a mill. They 
had run so compactly that there were no stragglers, 
so we loosened out and gave them room; but it 
was a long time before they relaxed any, but con 
tinued going round and round like a water wheel 
or an endless chain. The foreman ordered three 
men on the heaviest horses to split them. The men 
rode out a short distance to get the required mo- 


THE NORTH PLATTE 287 

mentum, wheeled their horses, and, wedge-shaped, 
struck this sea of cattle and entered, but it in 
stantly closed in their wake as though it had been 
water. For an hour they rode through the herd, 
back and forth, now from this quarter, now from 
that, and finally the mill was broken. After mid 
night, as luck would have it, heavy dark clouds 
banked in the northwest, and lightning flashed, 
and before a single animal had lain down, a driz 
zling rain set in. That settled it ; it was an all- 
night job now. We drifted about hither and yon. 
Horses, men, and cattle turned their backs to the 
wind and rain and waited for morning. We were 
so familiar with the signs of coming day that we 
turned them loose half an hour before dawn, leav 
ing herders, and rode for camp. 

As we groped our way in that dark hour before 
dawn, hungry, drenched, and bedraggled, there 
was nothing gleeful about us, while Bob Blades 
expressed his disgust over our occupation. &quot;If 
ever I get home again,&quot; said he, and the tones of 
his voice were an able second to his remarks, &quot; you 
all can go up the trail that want to, but here s one 
chicken that won t. There is n t a cowman in 
Texas who has money enough to hire me again.&quot; 

&quot; Ah, hell, now,&quot; said Bull, &quot; you ought n t to let 
a little rain ruffle your feathers that way. Cheer 
up, sonny ; you may be rich some day yet and walk 
on brussels and velvet.&quot; 


CHAPTER XIX 

FORTY ISLANDS FORD 

AFTER securing a count on the herd that morning 
and finding nothing short, we trailed out up the 
North Platte River. It was an easy country in 
which to handle a herd ; the trail in places would 
run back from the river as far as ten miles, and 
again follow close in near the river bottoms. There 
was an abundance of small creeks putting into this 
fork of the Platte from the south, which afforded 
water for the herd and good camp grounds at night. 
Only twice after leaving Ogalalla had we been 
compelled to go to the river for water for the herd, 
and with the exception of thunderstorms and occa 
sional summer rains, the weather had been all one 
could wish. For the past week as we trailed up 
the North Platte, some one of us visited the river 
daily to note its stage of water, for we were due to 
cross at Forty Islands, about twelve miles south 
of old Fort Laramie. The North Platte was very 
similar to the South Canadian, a wide sandy 
stream without banks ; and our experience with the 
latter was fresh in our memories. The stage of 
water had not been favorable, for this river also 
had its source in the mountains, and as now mid- 


FORTY ISLANDS FORD 289 

summer was upon us, the season of heavy rainfall 
in the mountains, augmented by the melting snows, 
the prospect of finding a f ordable stage of water at 
Forty Islands was not very encouraging. 

We reached this well-known crossing late in the 
afternoon the third day after leaving the Wyoming 
line, and found one of the Prairie Cattle Com 
pany s herds waterbound. This herd had been 
wintered on one of that company s ranges on the 
Arkansaw River in southern Colorado, and their 
destination was in the Bad Lands near the mouth 
of the Yellowstone, where the same company had 
a northern range. Flood knew the foreman, Wade 
Scholar, who reported having been* waterbound 
over a week already with no prospect of crossing 
without swimming. Scholar knew the country 
thoroughly, and had decided to lie over until the 
river was fordable at Forty Islands, as it was much 
the easiest crossing on the North Platte, though 
there was a wagon ferry at Fort Larainie. He 
returned with Flood to our camp, and the two 
talked over the prospect of swimming it on the 
morrow. 

&quot;Let s send the wagons up to the ferry in the 
morning,&quot; said Flood, &quot;and swim the herds. If 
you wait until this river falls, you are liable to 
have an experience like we had on the South Cana 
dian, lost three days and bogged over a hundred 
cattle. When one of these sandy rivers has had 
a big freshet, look out for quicksands; but you 


290 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

know that as well as I do. Why, we ve swum 
over half a dozen rivers already, and I d much 
rather swim this one than attempt to ford it just 
after it has fallen. We can double our outfits and 
be safely across before noon. I ve got nearly a 
thousand miles yet to make, and have just got to 
get over. Think it over to-night, and have your 
wagon ready to start with ours.&quot; 

Scholar rode away without giving our foreman 
any definite answer as to what he would do, though 
earlier in the evening he had offered to throw his 
herd well out of the way at the ford, and lend us 
any assistance at his command. But when it came 
to the question of crossing his own herd, he seemed 
to dread the idea of swimming the river, and could 
not be induced to say what he would do, but said 
that we were welcome to the lead. The next morn 
ing Flood and I accompanied our wagon up to his 
camp, when it was plainly evident that he did not 
intend to send his wagon with ours, and McCann 
started on alone, though our foreman renewed his 
efforts to convince Scholar of the feasibility of 
swimming the herds. Their cattle were thrown 
well away from the ford, and Scholar assured us 
that his outfit would be on hand whenever we were 
ready to cross, and even invited all hands of us to 
come to his wagon for dinner. When returning 
to our herd, Flood told me that Scholar was con 
sidered one of the best foremen on the trail, and 
why he should refuse to swim his cattle was unex- 


FORT? ISLANDS FORD 291 

plainable. He must have time to burn, but that 
didn t seem reasonable, for the earlier through 
cattle were turned loose on their winter range the 
better. We were in no hurry to cross, as our 
wagon would be gone all day, and it was nearly 
high noon when we trailed up to the ford. 

With the addition to our force of Scholar and 
nine or ten of his men, we had an abundance of 
help, and put the cattle into the water opposite 
two islands, our saddle horses in the lead as usual. 
There was no swimming water between the south 
shore and the first island, though it wet our saddle 
skirts for some considerable distance, this channel 
being nearly two hundred yards wide. Most of 
our outfit took the water, while Scholar s men fed 
our herd in from the south bank, a number of their 
men coming over as far as the first island. The 
second island lay down the stream some little dis 
tance; and as we pushed the cattle off the first one 
we were in swimming water in no time, but the 
saddle horses were already landing on the second 
island, and our lead cattle struck out, and, breast 
ing the water, swam as proudly as swans. The 
middle channel was nearly a hundred yards wide, 
the greater portion of which was swimming, though 
the last channel was much wider. But our sad 
dle horses had already taken it, and when within 
fifty yards of the farther shore, struck solid foot 
ing. With our own outfit we crowded the leaders 
to keep the chain of cattle unbroken, and before 


292 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

Honeyman could hustle his horses out of the river, 
our lead cattle had caught a foothold, were heading 
up stream and edging out for the farther shore. 

I had one of the best swimming horses in our 
outfit, and Flood put me in the lead on the point. 
As my horse came out on the farther bank, I am 
certain I never have seen a herd of cattle, before 
or since, which presented a prettier sight when 
swimming than ours did that day. There was fully 
four hundred yards of water on the angle by which 
we crossed, nearly half of which was swimming, but 
with the two islands which gave them a breath 
ing spell, our Circle Dots were taking the water 
as steadily as a herd leaving their bed ground. 
Scholar and his men were feeding them in, while 
half a dozen of our men on each island were keep 
ing them moving. Honeyman and I pointed them 
out of the river; and as they grazed away from 
the shore, they spread out fan-like, many of them 
kicking up their heels after they left the water 
in healthy enjoyment of their bath. Long before 
they were half over, the usual shouting had ceased, 
and we simply sat in our saddles and waited for 
the long train of cattle to come up and cross. 
Within less than half an hour from the time our 
saddle horses entered the North Platte, the tail 
end of our herd had landed safely on the farther 
bank. 

As Honeyman and I were the only ones of our 
outfit on the north side of the river during the pas- 



\ 9 





FORTY ISLANDS FORD 293 

sage, Flood called to us from across the last chan 
nel to graze the herd until relieved, when the re 
mainder of the outfit returned to the south side to 
recover their discarded effects and to get dinner 
with Scholar s wagon. I had imitated Honeyman, 
and tied my boots to my cantle strings, so that 
my effects were on the right side of the river; and 
as far as dinner was concerned, well, I d much 
rather miss it than swim the Platte twice in its 
then stage of water. There is a difference in 
daring in one s duty and in daring out of pure 
venturesomeness, and if we missed our dinners it 
would not be the first time, so we were quite will 
ing to make the sacrifice. If the Quirk family 
never achieve fame for daring by field and flood, 
until this one of the old man s boys brings the 
family name into prominence, it will be hopelessly 
lost to posterity. 

We allowed the cattle to graze of their own free 
will, and merely turned in the sides and rear, but 
on reaching the second bottom of the river, where 
they caught a good breeze, they lay down for their 
noonday siesta, which relieved us of all work but 
keeping watch over them. The saddle horses were 
grazing about in plain view on the first bottom, so 
Honeyman and I dismounted on a little elevation 
overlooking our charges. We were expecting the 
outfit to return promptly after dinner was over, 
for it was early enough in the day to have trailed 
eight or ten miles farther. It would have been no 


294 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

trouble to send some one up the river to meet our 
wagon and pilot McCann to the herd, for the trail 
left on a line due north from the river. We had 
been lounging about for an hour while the cattle 
were resting, when our attention was attracted by 
our saddle horses in the bottom. They were look 
ing at the ford, to which we supposed their atten 
tion had been attracted by the swimming of the 
outfit, but instead only two of the boys showed up, 
and on sighting us nearly a mile away, they rode 
forward very leisurely. Before their arrival we 
recognized them by their horses as Ash Borrow- 
stone and Rod Wheat, and on their riding up the 
latter said as he dismounted, 

&quot;Well, they re going to cross the other herd, 
and they want you to come back and point the 
cattle with that famous swimming horse of yours. 
You 11 learn after a while not to blow so much 
about your mount, and your cutting horses, and 
your night horses, and your swimming horses. I 
wish every horse of mine had a nigger brand on 
him, and I had to ride in the wagon, when it comes 
to swimming these rivers. And I m not the only 
one that has a distaste for a wet proposition, for 
I would n t have to guess twice as to what s the 
matter with Scholar. But Flood has pounded him 
on the back ever since he met him yesterday even 
ing to swim his cattle, until it s either swim or 
say he s afraid to, it s Shoot, Luke, or give up 
the gun with him. Scholar s a nice fellow, but 


FORTY ISLANDS FORD 295 

I 11 bet my interest in goose heaven that 1 know 
what s the matter with him. And I m not blam 
ing him, either; but I can t understand why our 
boss should take such an interest in having him 
swim. It s none of his business if he swims now, 
or fords a month hence, or waits until the river 
freezes over in the winter and crosses on the ice. 
But let the big augers wrangle it out ; you noticed, 
Ash, that not one of Scholar s outfit ever said a 
word one way or the other, but Flood poured it 
into him until he consented to swim. So fork that 
swimming horse of yours and wet your big toe 
again in the North Platte.&quot; 

As the orders had come from the foreman, there 
was nothing to do but obey. Honeyman rode as 
far as the river with me, where after shedding my 
boots and surplus clothing and secreting them, I 
rode up above the island and plunged in. I was 
riding the gray which I had tried in the Rio 
Grande the day we received the herd, and now 
that I understood handling him better, I preferred 
him to Nigger Boy, my night horse. We took the 
first and second islands with but a blowing spell 
between, and when I reached the farther shore, I 
turned in my saddle and saw Honeyman wave his 
hat to me in congratulation. On reaching their 
wagon, I found the herd was swinging around 
about a mile out from the river, in order to get a 
straight shoot for the entrance at the ford. I hur 
riedly swallowed my dinner, and as we rode out to 


296 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

meet the herd, asked Flood if Scholar were not 
going to send his wagon up to the ferry to cross, 
for there was as yet no indication of it. Flood 
replied that Scholar expected to go with the wagon, 
as he needed some supplies which he thought he 
could get from the sutler at Fort Laramie. 

Flood ordered me to take the lower point again, 
and I rode across the trail and took my place when 
the herd came within a quarter of a mile of the 
river, while the remainder of the outfit took posi 
tions near the lead on the lower side. It was a 
slightly larger herd than ours, all steers, three- 
year-olds that reflected in their glossy coats the 
benefits of a northern winter. As we came up to 
the water s edge, it required two of their men to 
force their remuda into the water, though it was 
much smaller than ours, six horses to the man, 
but better ones than ours, being northern wintered. 
The cattle were well trail- broken, and followed the 
leadership of the saddle horses nicely to the first 
island, but they would have balked at this second 
channel, had it not been for the amount of help 
at hand. We lined them out, however, and they 
breasted the current, and landed on the second 
island. The saddle horses gave some little trouble 
on leaving for the farther shore, and before they 
were got off, several hundred head of cattle had 
landed on the island. But they handled obediently 
and were soon trailing out upon terra firma, the 
herd following across without a broken link in the 


FORTY ISLANDS FORD 297 

chain. There was nothing now to do but keep the 
train moving into the water on the south bank, see 
that they did not congest on the islands, and that 
they left the river on reaching the farther shore. 
When the saddle horses reached the farther bank, 
they were thrown up the river and turned loose, so 
that the two men would be available to hold the 
herd after it left the water. I had crossed with 
the first lead cattle to the farther shore, and was 
turning them up the river as fast as they struck 
solid footing on that side. But several times I was 
compelled to swim back to the nearest island, and 
return with large bunches which had hesitated to 
take the last channel. 

The two outfits were working promiscuously to 
gether, and I never knew who was the directing 
spirit in the work; but when the last two or three 
hundred of the tail-enders were leaving the first 
island for the second, and the men working in the 
rear started to swim the channel, amid the general 
hilarity I recognized a shout that was born of fear 
and terror. A hushed silence fell over the riotous 
riders in the river, and I saw those on the sand bar 
nearest my side rush down the narrow island and 
plunge back into the middle channel. Then it 
dawned on my mind in a flash that some one had 
lost his seat, and that terrified cry was for help. 
I plunged my gray into the river and swam to 
the first bar, and from thence to the scene of the 
trouble. Horses and men were drifting with the 


298 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

current down the channel, and as I appealed to 
the men I could get no answer but their blanched 
faces, though it was plain in every countenance 
that one of our number was under water if not 
drowned. There were not less than twenty horse 
men drifting in the middle channel in the hope 
that whoever it was would come to the surface, 
and a hand could be stretched out in succor. 

About two hundred yards down the river was 
an island near the middle of the stream. The 
current carried us near it, and, on landing, I 
learned that the unfortunate man was none other 
than Wade Scholar, the foreman of the herd. We 
scattered up and down this middle island and 
watched every ripple and floating bit of flotsam in 
the hope that he would come to the surface, but 
nothing but his hat was seen. In the disorder into 
which the outfits were thrown by this accident, 
Flood first regained his thinking faculties, and 
ordered a few of us to cross to either bank, and 
ride down the river and take up positions on the 
other islands, from which that part of the river 
took its name. A hundred conjectures were of 
fered as to how it occurred; but no one saw either 
horse or rider after sinking. A free horse would 
be hard to drown, and on the nonappearance of 
Scholar s mount it was concluded that he must have 
become entangled in the reins or that Scholar had 
clutched them in his death grip, and horse and 
man thus met death together. It was believed by 


FORTY ISLANDS FORD 299 

his own outfit that Scholar had no intention until 
the last moment to risk swimming the river, but 
when he saw all the others plunge into the chan 
nel, his better judgment was overcome, and rather 
than remain behind and cause comment, he had 
followed and lost his life. 

We patrolled the river until darkness without 
result, the two herds in the mean time having been 
so neglected that they had mixed. Our wagon 
returned along the north bank early in the even 
ing, and Flood ordered Priest to go in and make 
up a guard from the two outfits and hold the herd 
for the night. Some one of Scholar s outfit went 
back and moved their wagon up to the crossing, 
within hailing distance of ours. It was a night 
of muffled conversation, and every voice of the 
night or cry of waterfowl in the river sent creepy 
sensations over us. The long night passed, how 
ever, and the sun rose in Sabbath benediction, for 
it was Sunday, and found groups of men huddled 
around two wagons in silent contemplation of what 
the day before had brought. A more broken and 
disconsolate set of men than Scholar s would be 
hard to imagine. 

Flood inquired of their outfit if there was any 
sub-foreman, or segundo as they were generally 
called. It seemed there was not, but their outfit 
was unanimous that the leadership should fall to a 
boyhood acquaintance of Scholar s by the name of 
Campbell, who was generally addressed as &quot;Black &quot; 


300 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

Jim. Flood at once advised Campbell to send their 
wagon up to Laramie and cross it, promising that 
we would lie over that day and make an effort to 
recover the body of the drowned foreman. Camp 
bell accordingly started his wagon up to the ferry, 
and all the remainder of the outfits, with the ex 
ception of a few men on herd, started out in search 
of the drowned man. Within a mile and a half 
below the ford, there were located over thirty of 
the forty islands, and at the lower end of this chain 
of sand bars we began and searched both shores, 
while three or four men swam to each island and 
made a vigorous search. 

The water in the river was not very clear, which 
called for a close inspection; but with a force of 
twenty -five men in the hunt, we covered island and 
shore rapidly in our search. It was about eight 
in the morning, and we had already searched half 
of the islands, when Joe Stallings and two of 
Scholar s men swam to an island in the river which 
had a growth of small cottonwoods covering it, 
while on the upper end was a heavy lodgment of 
driftwood. John Officer, The Eebel, and I had 
taken the next island above, and as we were riding 
the shallows surrounding it we heard a shot in our 
rear that told us the body had been found. As we 
turned in the direction of the signal, Stallings was 
standing on a large driftwood log, and signaling. 
We started back to him, partly wading and partly 
swimming, while from both sides of the river men 


FORTY ISLANDS FORD 301 

were swimming their horses for the brushy island. 
Our squad, on nearing the lower bar, was com 
pelled to swim around the driftwood, and some 
twelve or fifteen men from either shore reached 
the scene before us. The body was lying face 
upward, in about eighteen inches of eddy water. 
Flood and Campbell waded out, and taking a lariat, 
fastened it around his chest under the arms. Then 
Flood, noticing I was riding my black, asked me 
to tow the body ashore. Forcing a passage through 
the driftwood, I took the loose end of the lariat 
and started for the north bank, the double outfit 
following. On reaching the shore, the body was 
carried out of the water by willing hands, and one 
of our outfit was sent to the wagon for a tarpaulin 
to be used as a stretcher. 

Meanwhile, Campbell took possession of the 
drowned foreman s watch, six-shooter, purse, and 
papers. The watch was as good as ruined, but the 
leather holster had shrunk and securely held the 
gun from being lost in the river. On the arrival 
of the tarpaulin, the body was laid upon it, and 
four mounted men, taking the four corners of the 
sheet, wrapped them on the pommels of their sad 
dles and started for our wagon. When the corpse 
had been lowered to the ground at our camp, a 
look of inquiry passed from face to face which 
seemed to ask, &quot;What next?&quot; But the inquiry 
was answered a moment later by Black Jim Camp 
bell, the friend of the dead man. Memory may 


302 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

have dimmed the lesser details of that Sunday 
morning on the North Platte, for over two decades 
have since gone, but his words and manliness have 
lived, not only in my mind, but in the memory of 
every other survivor of those present. &quot; This ac 
cident,&quot; said he in perfect composure, as he gazed 
into the calm, still face of his dead friend, &quot;will 
impose on me a very sad duty. I expect to meet 
his mother some day. She will want to know 
everything. I must tell her the truth, and I d 
hate to tell her we buried him like a dog, for she s 
a Christian woman. And what makes it all the 
harder, I know that this is the third boy she has 
lost by drowning. Some of you may not have un ; 
der stood him, but among those papers which you 
saw me take from his pockets was a letter from 
his mother, in which she warned him to guard 
against just what has happened. Situated as we 
are, I m going to ask you all to help me give him 
the best burial we can. No doubt it will be crude, 
but it will be some solace to her to know we did 
the best we could.&quot; 

Every one of us was eager to lend his assistance. 
Within five minutes Priest was galloping up the 
north bank of the river to intercept the wagon at 
the ferry, a well-filled purse in his pocket with 
which to secure a coffin at Fort Laramie. Flood 
and Campbell selected a burial place, and with our 
wagon spade a grave was being dug on a near-by 
grassy mound, where there were two other graves. 


FORTY ISLANDS FORD 303 

There was not a man among us who was hypocrite 
enough to attempt to conduct a Christian burial 
service, but when the subject came up, McCann 
said as he came down the river the evening before 
he noticed an emigrant train of about thirty wagons 
going into camp at a grove about five miles up the 
river. In a conversation which he had had with 
one of the party, he learned that they expected to 
rest over Sunday. Their respect for the Sabbath 
day caused Campbell to suggest that there might 
be some one in the emigrant camp who could con 
duct a Christian burial, and he at once mounted 
his horse and rode away to learn. 

In preparing the body for its last resting-place 
we were badly handicapped, but by tearing a new 
wagon sheet into strips about a foot in width and 
wrapping the body, we gave it a humble bier in 
the shade of our wagon, pending the arrival of the 
coffin. The features were so ashened by having 
been submerged in the river for over eighteen 
hours, that we wrapped the face also, as we pre 
ferred to remember him as we had seen him the day 
&quot;before, strong, healthy, and buoyant. During the 
interim, awaiting the return of Campbell from the 
emigrant camp and of the wagon, we sat around 
in groups and discussed the incident. There was a 
sense of guilt expressed by a number of our outfit 
over their hasty decision regarding the courage of 
the dead man. When we understood that two of 
his brothers had met a similar fate in Red River 


304 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

within the past five years, every guilty thought or 
hasty word spoken came back to us with tenfold 
weight. Priest and Campbell returned together; 
the former reported having secured a coffin which 
would arrive within an hour, while the latter had 
met in the emigrant camp a superannuated minis 
ter who gladly volunteered his services. He had 
given the old minister such data as he had, and two 
of the minister s granddaughters had expressed a 
willingness to assist by singing at the burial ser 
vices. Campbell had set the hour for four, and 
several conveyances would be down from the emi 
grant camp. The wagon arriving shortly after 
ward, we had barely time to lay the corpse in the 
coffin before the emigrants drove up. The min 
ister was a tall, homely man, with a flowing beard, 
which the frosts of many a winter had whitened, 
and as he mingled amongst us in the final prepara 
tions, he had a kind word for every one. There 
were ten in his party; and when the coffin had 
been carried out to the grave, the two granddaugh 
ters of the old man opened the simple service by 
singing very impressively the first three verses of 
the Portuguese Hymn. I had heard the old hymn 
sung often before, but the impression of the last 
verse rang in my ears for days afterward. 

&quot; When through the deep waters I call thee to go, 
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow ; 
For I will be with thee thy troubles to bless, 
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.&quot; 


FORTY ISLANDS FORD 305 

As the notes of the hymn died away, there was 
for a few moments profound stillness, and not a 
move was made by any one. The touching words 
of the old hymn expressed quite vividly the dis 
aster of the previous day, and awakened in us 
many memories of home. For a time we were 
silent, while eyes unused to weeping filled with 
tears. I do not know how long we remained so. 
It may have been only for a moment, it probably 
was; but I do know the silence was not broken 
till the aged minister, who stood at the head of 
the coffin, began his discourse. We stood with 
uncovered heads during the service, and when the 
old minister addressed us he spoke as though he 
might have been holding family worship and we 
had been his children. He invoked Heaven to 
comfort and sustain the mother when the news of 
her son s death reached her, as she would need 
more than human aid in that hour ; he prayed that 
her faith might not falter and that she might again 
meet and be with her loved ones forever in the 
great beyond. He then took up the subject of 
life, spoke of its brevity, its many hopes that 
are never realized, and the disappointments from 
which no prudence or foresight can shield us. He 
dwelt at some length on the strange mingling of 
sunshine and shadow that seemed to belong to every 
life ; on the mystery everywhere, and nowhere more 
impressively than in ourselves. With his long 
bony finger he pointed to the cold, mute form that 


306 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

lay in the coffin before us, and said, &quot;But thk, 
my friends, is the mystery of all mysteries.&quot; The 
fact that life terminated in death, he said, only 
emphasized its reality; that the death of our com 
panion was not an accident, though it was sudden 
and unexpected; that the difficulties of life are 
such that it would be worse than folly in us to try 
to meet them in our own strength. Death, he 
said, might change, but it did not destroy ; that the 
soul still lived and would live forever; that death 
was simply the gateway out of time into eternity; 
and if we were to realize the high aim of our 
being, we could do so by casting our burdens on 
Him who was able and willing to carry them for 
us. He spoke feelingly of the Great Teacher, the 
lowly Nazarene, who also suffered and died, and 
he concluded with an eloquent description of the 
blessed life, the immortality of the soul, and the 
resurrection of the body. After the discourse was 
ended and a brief and earnest prayer was offered, 
the two young girls sang the hymn, &quot;Shall we 
meet beyond the river?&quot; The services being at 
an end, the coffin was lowered into the grave. 

Campbell thanked the old minister and his two 
granddaughters on their taking leave, for their 
presence and assistance ; and a number of us boys 
also shook hands with the old man at parting. 


CHAPTER XX 

A MOONLIGHT DRIVE 

THE two herds were held together a second night, 
but after they had grazed a few hours the next 
morning, the cattle were thrown together, and the 
work of cutting out ours commenced. With a 
double outfit of men available, about twenty men 
were turned into the herd to do the cutting, the 
remainder holding the main herd and looking after 
the cut. The morning was cool, every one worked 
with a vim, and in about two hours the herds 
were again separated and ready for the final trim 
ming. Campbell did not expect to move out until 
he could communicate with the head office of the 
company, and would go up to Fort Laramie for 
that purpose during the day, hoping to be able to 
get a message over the military wire. When his 
outfit had finished retrimming our herd, and we 
had looked over his cattle for the last time, the two 
outfits bade each other farewell, and our herd 
started on its journey. 

The unfortunate accident at the ford had de 
pressed our feelings to such an extent that there 
was an entire absence of hilarity by the way. 
This morning the farewell songs generally used 


308 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

in parting with a river which had defied us were 
omitted. The herd trailed out like an immense 
serpent, and was guided and controlled by our 
men as if by mutes. Long before the noon hour, 
we passed out of sight of Forty Islands, and in 
the next few days, with the change of scene, the 
gloom gradually lifted. We were bearing almost 
due north, and passing through a delightful coun 
try. To our left ran a range of mountains, while 
on the other hand sloped off the apparently limit 
less plain. The scarcity of water was beginning 
to be felt, for the streams which had not a source 
in the mountains on our left had dried up weeks 
before our arrival. There was a gradual change 
of air noticeable too, for we were rapidly gaining 
altitude, the heat of summer being now confined 
to a few hours at noonday, while the nights were 
almost too cool for our comfort. 

When about three days out from the North 
Platte, the mountains disappeared on our left, 
while on the other hand appeared a rugged-looking 
country, which we knew must be the approaches of 
the Black Hills. Another day s drive brought us 
into the main stage road connecting the railroad 
on the south with the mining camps which nestled 
somewhere in those rocky hills to our right. The 
stage road followed the trail some ten or fifteen 
miles before we parted company with it on a dry 
fork of the Big Cheyenne River. There was a 
road house and stage stand where these two thor- 


A MOONLIGHT DRIVE 309 

oughfares separated, the one to the mining camp 
of Deadwood, while ours of the Montana cattle 
trail bore off for the Powder River to the north 
west. At this stage stand we learned that some 
twenty herds had already passed by to the north 
ern ranges, and that after passing the next fork 
of the Big Cheyenne we should find no water until 
we struck the Powder River, a stretch of eighty 
miles. The keeper of the road house, a genial 
host, informed us that this drouthy stretch in our 
front was something unusual, this being one of the 
dryest summers that he had experienced since the 
discovery of gold in the Black Hills. 

Here was a new situation to be met, an eighty- 
mile dry drive; and with our experience of a few 
months before at Indian Lakes fresh in our mem 
ories, we set our house in order for the under 
taking before us. It was yet fifteen miles to the 
next and last water from the stage stand. There 
were several dry forks of the Cheyenne beyond, 
but as they had their source in the tablelands of 
Wyoming, we could not hope for water in their 
dry bottoms. The situation was serious, with only 
this encouragement : other herds had crossed this 
arid belt since the streams had dried up, and our 
Circle Dots could walk with any herd that ever 
left Texas. The wisdom of mounting us well for 
just such an emergency reflected the good cow 
sense of our employer; and we felt easy in regard 
to our mounts, though there was not a horse or 


310 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

a man too many. In summing up the situation, 
Flood said, &quot;We ve got this advantage over the 
Indian Lake drive : there is a good moon, and the 
days are cool. We 11 make twenty -five miles a 
day covering this stretch, as this herd has never 
been put to a test yet to see how far they could 
walk in a day. They 11 have to do their sleeping 
at noon ; at least cut it into two shifts, and if we 
get any sleep we 11 have to do the same. Let her 
come as she will; every day s drive is a day nearer 
the Blackfoot agency.&quot; 

We made a dry camp that night on the divide 
between the road house and the last water, and the 
next forenoon reached the South Fork of the Big 
Cheyenne. The water was not even running in it, 
but there were several long pools, and we held the 
cattle around them for over an hour, until every 
hoof had been thoroughly watered. McCann had 
filled every keg and canteen in advance of the 
arrival of the herd, and Flood had exercised suffi 
cient caution, in view of what lay before us, to buy 
an extra keg and a bull s-eye lantern at the road 
house. After watering, we trailed out some four 
or five miles and camped for noon, but the herd 
were allowed to graze forward until they lay down 
for their noonday rest. As the herd passed oppo 
site the wagon, we cut a fat two-year-old stray 
heifer and killed her for beef, for the inner man 
must be fortified for the journey before us. After 
a two hours siesta, we threw the herd on the trail 


A MOONLIGHT DRIVE 311 

and started on our way. The wagon and saddle 
horses were held in our immediate rear, for there 
was no telling when or where we would make our 
next halt of any consequence. We trailed and 
grazed the herd alternately until near evening, 
when the wagon was sent on ahead about three 
miles to get supper, while half the outfit went 
along to change mounts and catch up horses for 
those remaining behind with the herd. A half 
hour before the usual bedding time, the relieved 
men returned and took the grazing herd, and the 
others rode in to the wagon for supper and a 
change of mounts. While we shifted our saddles, 
we smelled the savory odor of fresh beef frying. 

&quot;Listen to that good old beef talking, will 
you?&quot; said Joe Stallings, as he was bridling his 
horse. &quot;McCann, I 11 take my came fresco a tri 
fle rare to-night, garnished with a sprig of parsley 
and a wee bit of lemon.&quot; 

Before we had finished supper, Honeyman had 
rehooked the mules to the wagon, while the remuda 
was at hand to follow. Before we left the wagon, 
a full moon was rising on the eastern horizon, and 
as we were starting out Flood gave us these gen 
eral directions: &quot;I m going to take the lead with 
the cook s lantern, and one of you rear men take 
the new bull s-eye. We 11 throw the herd on the 
trail; and between the lead and rear light, you 
swing men want to ride well outside, and you 
point men want to hold the lead cattle so the rear 


312 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

will never be more than a half a mile behind. 
I 11 admit that this is somewhat of an experiment 
with me, but I don t see any good reason why she 
won t work. After the moon gets another hour 
high we can see a quarter of a mile, and the cat 
tle are so well trail broke they 11 never try to scat 
ter. If it works all right, we 11 never bed them 
short of midnight, and that will put us ten miles 
farther. Let s ride, lads.&quot; 

By the time the herd was eased back on the 
trail, our evening camp-fire had been passed, while 
the cattle led out as if walking on a wager. After 
the first mile on the trail, the men on the point 
were compelled to ride in the lead if we were to 
hold them within the desired half mile. The men 
on the other side, or the swing, were gradually 
widening, until the herd must have reached fully 
a mile in length; yet we swing riders were never 
out of sight of each other, and it would have been 
impossible for any cattle to leave the herd unno 
ticed. In that moonlight the trail was as plain 
as day, and after an hour, Flood turned his lantern 
over to one of the point men, and rode back around 
the herd to the rear. From my position that first 
night near the middle of the swing, the lanterns 
both rear and forward being always in sight, I 
was as much at sea as any one as to the length of 
the herd, knowing the deceitfulness of distance of 
campfires and other lights by night. The foreman 
appealed to me as he rode down the column, to 


A MOONLIGHT DRIVE 313 

know the length of the herd, but I could give him 
no more than a simple guess. I could assure him, 
however, that the cattle had made no effort to drop 
out and leave the trail. But a short time after he 
passed me I noticed a horseman galloping up the 
column on the opposite side of the herd, and knew 
it must be the foreman. Within a short time, 
some one in the lead wig-wagged his lantern; it 
was answered by the light in the rear, and the 
next minute the old rear song, 

&quot; Ip-e-la-ago, go long little doggie, 
You 11 make a beef -steer by-and-by,&quot; 

reached us riders in the swing, and we knew the rear 
guard of cattle was being pushed forward. The 
distance between the swing men gradually narrowed 
in our lead, from which we could tell the leaders 
were being held in, until several times cattle grazed 
out from the herd, due to the checking in front. 
At this juncture Flood galloped around the herd a 
second time, and as he passed us riding along our 
side, I appealed to him to let them go in front, as 
it now required constant riding to keep the cattle 
from leaving the trail to graze. When he passed 
up the opposite side, I could distinctly hear the men 
on that flank making a similar appeal, and shortly 
afterwards the herd loosened out and we struck 
our old gait for several hours. 

Trailing by moonlight was a novelty to all of us, 
and in the stillness of those splendid July nights 
we could hear the point men chatting across the 


314 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

lead in front, while well in the rear, the rattling 
of our heavily loaded wagon and the whistling of 
the horse wrangler to his charges reached our ears. 
The swing men were scattered so far apart there 
was no chance for conversation amongst us, but 
every once in a while a song would be started, and 
as it surged up and down the line, every voice, 
good, bad, and indifferent, joined in. Singing is 
supposed to have a soothing effect on cattle, though 
I will vouch for the fact that none of our Circle 
Dots stopped that night to listen to our vocal ef 
forts. The herd was traveling so nicely that our 
foreman hardly noticed the passing hours, but 
along about midnight the singing ceased, and we 
were nodding in our saddles and wondering if they 
in the lead were never going to throw off the trail, 
when a great wig-wagging occurred in front, and 
presently we overtook The Rebel, holding the lan 
tern and turning the herd out of the trail. It was 
then after midnight, and within another half hour 
we had the cattle bedded down within a few hun 
dred yards of the trail. One-hour guards was the 
order of the night, and as soon as our wagon and 
saddle horses came up, we stretched ropes and 
caught out our night horses. These we either tied 
to the wagon wheels or picketed near at hand, and 
then we sought our blankets for a few hours sleep. 
It was half past three in the morning when our 
guard was called, and before the hour passed, the 
first signs of day were visible in the east. But 


A MOONLIGHT DRIVE 315 

even before our watch had ended, Flood and the 
last guard came to our relief, and we pushed the 
sleeping cattle off the bed ground and started them 
grazing forward. 

Cattle will not graze freely in a heavy dew or 
too early in the morning, and before the sun was 
high enough to dry the grass, we had put several 
miles behind us. When the sun was about an hour 
high, the remainder of the outfit overtook us, and 
shortly afterward the wagon and saddle horses 
passed on up the trail, from which it was evident 
that &quot;breakfast would be served in the dining car 
ahead,&quot; as the traveled Priest aptly put it. After 
the sun was well up, the cattle grazed freely for 
several hours; but when we sighted the remuda 
and our commissary some two miles in our lead, 
Flood ordered the herd lined up for a count. The 
Rebel was always a reliable counter, and he and 
the foreman now rode forward and selected the 
crossing of a dry wash for the counting. On 
receiving their signal to come on, we allowed the 
herd to graze slowly forward, but gradually pointed 
them into an immense &quot;V,&quot; and as the point of 
the herd crossed the dry arroyo, we compelled them 
to pass in a narrow file between the two counters, 
when they again spread out fan-like and continued 
their feeding. 

The count confirmed the success of our driving 
by night, and on its completion all but two men 
rode to the wagon for breakfast. By the time the 


316 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

morning meal was disposed of, the herd had come 
up parallel with the wagon but a mile to the west 
ward, and as fast as fresh mounts could be saddled, 
we rode away in small squads to relieve the herders 
and to turn the cattle into the trail. It was but a 
little after eight o clock in the morning when the 
herd was again trailing out on the Powder Kiver 
trail, and we had already put over thirty miles of 
the dry drive behind us, while so far neither horses 
nor cattle had been put to any extra exertion. The 
wagon followed as usual, and for over three hours 
we held the trail without a break, when sighting 
a divide in our front, the foreman went back and 
sent the wagon around the herd with instructions 
to make the noon camp well up on the divide. 
We threw the herd off the trail, within a mile of 
this stopping place, and allowed them to graze, 
while two thirds of the outfit galloped away to 
the wagon. 

We allowed the cattle to lie down and rest to 
their complete satisfaction until the middle of the 
afternoon; meanwhile all hands, with the excep 
tion of two men on herd, also lay down and slepti 
in the shade of the wagon. When the cattle had 
had several hours sleep, the want of water made 
them restless, and they began to rise and graze 
away. Then all hands were aroused and we threw 
them upon the trail. The heat of the day was al 
ready over, and until the twilight of the evening, we 
trailed a three-mile clip, and again threw the herd 


A MOONLIGHT DRIVE 317 

off to graze. By our traveling and grazing gaits, 
we could form an approximate idea as to the dis 
tance we had covered, and the consensus of opinion 
of all was that we had already killed over half the 
distance. The herd was beginning to show the 
want of water by evening, but amongst our saddle 
horses the lack of water was more noticeable, as 
a horse subsisting on grass alone weakens easily ; 
and riding them made them all the more gaunt. 
When we caught up our mounts that evening, we 
had used eight horses to the man since we had left 
the South Fork, and another one would be re 
quired at midnight, or whenever we halted. 

We made our drive the second night with more 
confidence than the one before, but there were 
times when the train of cattle must have been 
nearly two miles in length, yet there was never a 
halt as long as the man with the lead light could 
see the one in the rear. We bedded the herd 
about midnight ; and at the first break of day, the 
fourth guard with the foreman joined us on our 
watch and we started the cattle again. There was 
a light dew the second night, and the cattle, hun 
gered by their night walk, went to grazing at once 
on the damp grass, which would allay their thirst 
slightly. We allowed them to scatter over several 
thousand acres, for we were anxious to graze them 
well before the sun absorbed the moisture, but at 
the same time every step they took was one less to 
the coveted Powder River. 


318 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

When we had grazed the herd forward several 
miles, and the sun was nearly an hour high, the 
wagon failed to come up, which caused our fore 
man some slight uneasiness. Nearly another hour 
passed, and still the wagon did not come up nor 
did the outfit put in an appearance. Soon after 
wards, however, Moss Strayhorn overtook us, and 
reported that over forty of our saddle horses were 
missing, while the work mules had been overtaken 
nearly five miles back on the trail. On account 
of my ability as a trailer, Flood at once dispatched 
me to assist Honeyman in recovering the missing 
horses, instructing some one else to take the re- 
muda, and the wagon and horses to follow up the 
herd. By the time I arrived, most of the boys at 
camp had secured a change of horses, and I caught 
up my grulla, that I was saving for the last hard 
ride, for the horse hunt which confronted us. 
McCann, having no fire built, gave Honeyman and 
myself an impromptu breakfast and two canteens 
of water; but before we let the wagon get away, 
we rustled a couple of cans of tomatoes and buried 
them in a cache near the camp-ground, where we 
would have no trouble in finding them on our re 
turn. As the wagon pulled out, we mounted our 
horses and rode back down the trail. 

Billy Honeyman understood horses, and at once 
volunteered the belief that we would have a long 
ride overtaking the missing saddle stock. The 
absent horses, he said, were principally the ones 


A MOONLIGHT DRIVE 319 

which had been under saddle the day before, and as 
we both knew, a tired, thirsty horse will go miles 
for water. He recalled, also, that while we were 
asleep at noon the day before, twenty miles back 
on the trail, the horses had found quite a patch 
of wild sorrel plant, and were foolish over leaving 
it. Both of us being satisfied that this would hold 
them for several hours at least, we struck a free 
gait for it. After we passed the point where the 
mules had been overtaken, the trail of the horses 
was distinct enough for us to follow in an easy 
canter. We saw frequent signs that they left the 
trail, no doubt to graze, but only for short dis 
tances, when they would enter it again, and keep 
it for miles. Shortly before noon, as we gained 
the divide above our noon camp of the day before, 
there about two miles distant we saw our missing 
horses, feeding over an alkali flat on which grew 
wild sorrel and other species of sour plants. &quot;We 
rounded them up, and finding none missing, we 
first secured a change of mounts. The only two 
horses of my mount in this portion of the re- 
muda had both been under saddle the afternoon 
and night before, and were as gaunt as rails, and 
Honeyman had one unused horse of his mount in 
the band. So when, taking down our ropes, we 
halted the horses and began riding slowly around 
them, forcing them into a compact body, I had 
my eye on a brown horse of Flood s that had not 
had a saddle on in a week, and told Billy to fasten 


320 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

to him if he got a chance. This was in violation 
of all custom, but if the foreman kicked, I had a 
good excuse to offer. 

Honey man was left-handed and threw a rope 
splendidly ; and as we circled around the horses on 
opposite sides, on a signal from him we whirled 
our lariats and made casts simultaneously. The 
wrangler fastened to the brown I wanted, and 
my loop settled around the neck of his unridden 
horse. As the band broke away from our swing 
ing ropes, a number of them ran afoul of my rope ; 
but I gave the rowel to my grulla, and we shook 
them off. When I returned to Honeyman, and we 
had exchanged horses and were shifting our sad 
dles, I complimented him on the long throw he 
had made in catching the brown, and incidentally 
mentioned that I had read of vaqueros in Califor 
nia who used a sixty -five foot lariat. &quot;Hell,&quot; said 
Billy, in ridicule of the idea, &quot;there wasn t a man 
ever born who could throw a sixty-five foot rope its 
full length without he threw it down a well.&quot; 

The sun was straight overhead when we started 
back to overtake the herd. We struck into a little 
better than a five-mile gait on the return trip, and 
about two o clock sighted a band of saddle horses 
and a wagon camped perhaps a mile forward and 
to the side of the trail. On coming near enough, 
we saw at a glance it was a cow outfit, and after 
driving our loose horses a good push beyond their 
camp, turned and rode back to their wagon. 


A MOONLIGHT DRIVE 321 

&quot;We 11 give them a chance to ask us to eat,&quot; 
said Billy to me, &quot;and if they don t, why, they 11 
miss a hell of a good chance to entertain hungry 
men.&quot; 

But the foreman with the stranger wagon proved 
to be a Bee County Texan, and our doubts did 
him an injustice, for, although dinner was over, he 
invited us to dismount and ordered his cook to set 
out something to eat. They had met our wagon, 
and McCann had insisted on their taking a quarter 
of our beef, so we fared well. The outfit was from 
a ranch near Miles City, Montana, and were going 
down to receive a herd of cattle at Cheyenne, Wy 
oming. The cattle had been bought at Ogalalla 
for delivery at the former point, and this wagon 
was going down with their ranch outfit to take the 
herd on its arrival. They had brought along about 
seventy-five saddle horses from the ranch, though 
in buying the herd they had taken its remuda of 
over a hundred saddle horses. The foreman in 
formed us that they had met our cattle about the 
middle of the forenoon, nearly twenty-five miles 
out from Powder River. After we had satisfied 
the inner man, we lost no time getting oft , as we 
could see a long ride ahead of us; but we had oc 
casion as we rode away to go through their remuda 
to cut out a few of our horses which had mixed, 
and I found I knew over a dozen of their horses 
by the ranch brands, while Honeyman also recog 
nized quite a few. Though we felt a pride in our 


322 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

mounts, we had to admit that theirs were better; 
for the effect of climate had transformed horses 
that we had once ridden on ranches in southern 
Texas. It does seem incredible, but it is a fact 
nevertheless, that a horse, having reached the years 
of maturity in a southern climate, will grow half 
a hand taller and carry two hundred pounds more 
flesh, when he has undergone the rigors of several 
northern winters. 

We halted at our night camp to change horses 
and to unearth our cached tomatoes, and again set 
out. By then it was so late in the day that the 
sun had lost its force, and on this last leg in over 
taking the herd we increased our gait steadily until 
the sun was scarcely an hour high, and yet we 
never sighted a dust-cloud in our front. About 
sundown we called a few minutes halt, and after 
eating our tomatoes and drinking the last of our 
water, again pushed on. Twilight had faded into 
dusk before we reached a divide which we had had 
in sight for several hours, and which we had hoped 
to gain in time to sight the timber on Powder 
River before dark. But as we put mile after mile 
behind us, that divide seemed to move away like a 
mirage, and the evening star had been shining for 
an hour before we finally reached it, and sighted, 
instead of Powder s timber, the campfire of our 
outfit about five miles ahead. We fired several 
shots on seeing the light, in the hope that they 
might hear us in camp and wait; otherwise we 


A MOONLIGHT DRIVE 323 

knew they would start the herd with the rising of 
the moon. 

When we finally reached camp, about nine 
o clock at night, everything was in readiness to 
start, the moon having risen sufficiently. Our 
shooting, however, had been heard, and horses for 
a change were tied to the wagon wheels, while the 
remainder of the remuda was under herd in charge 
of Eod Wheat. The runaways were thrown into 
the horse herd while we bolted our suppers. Mean 
time McCann informed us that Flood had ridden 
that afternoon to the Powder River, in order to get 
the lay of the land. He had found it to be ten or 
twelve miles distant from the present camp, and 
the water in the river barely knee deep to a saddle 
horse. Beyond it was a fine valley. Before we 
started, Flood rode in from the herd, and said to 
Honeyman, &quot; I m going to send the horses and 
wagon ahead to-night, and you and McCann want 
to camp on this side of the river, under the hill 
and just a few hundred yards below the ford. 
Throw your saddle horses across the river, and 
build a fire before you go to sleep, so we will have 
a beacon light to pilot us in, in case the cattle 
break into a run on scenting the water. The herd 
will get in a little after midnight, and after cross 
ing, we 11 turn her loose just for luck.&quot; 

It did me good to hear the foreman say the herd 
was to be turned loose, for I had been in the 
saddle since three that morning, had ridden over 


324 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

eighty miles, and had now ten more in sight, while 
Honey man would complete the day with over a 
hundred to his credit. We let the remuda take 
the lead in pulling out, so that the wagon mules 
could be spurred to their utmost in keeping up 
with the loose horses. Once they were clear of the 
herd, we let the cattle into the trail. They had 
refused to bed down, for they were uneasy with 
thirst, but the cool weather had saved them any 
serious suffering. We all felt gala as the herd 
strung out on the trail. Before we halted again 
there would be water for our dumb brutes and rest 
for ourselves. There was lots of singing that 
night. &quot;There s One more River to cross,&quot; and 
&quot;Roll, Powder, roll,&quot; were wafted out on the 
night air to the coyotes that howled on our flanks, 
or to the prairie dogs as they peeped from their 
burrows at this weird caravan of the night, and the 
lights which flickered in our front and rear must 
have been real Jack-o -lanterns or Will-o -the- 
wisps to these occupants of the plain. Before we 
had covered half the distance, the herd was strung- 
out over two miles, and as Flood rode back to the 
rear every half hour or so, he showed no inclina 
tion to check the lead and give the sore-footed 
rear guard a chance to close up the column; but 
about an hour before midnight we saw a light low 
down in our front, which gradually increased until 
the treetops were distinctly visible, and we knew 
that our wagon had reached the river. On sight- 


A MOONLIGHT DRIVE 325 

ing this beacon, the long yell went up and down 
the column, and the herd walked as only long- 
legged, thirsty Texas cattle can walk when they 
scent water. Flood called all the swing men to 
the rear, and we threw out a half -circle skirmish 
line covering a mile in width, so far back that only 
an occasional glimmer of the lead light could be 
seen. The trail |truck the Powder on an angle, 
and when within a mile of the river, the swing 
cattle left the deep-trodden paths and started for 
the nearest water. 

The left flank of our skirmish line encountered 
the cattle as they reached the river, and prevented 
them from drifting up the stream. The point men 
abandoned the leaders when within a few hundred 
yards of the river. Then the rear guard of crip 
ples and sore-footed cattle came up, and the two 
flanks of horsemen pushed them all across the river 
until they met, when we turned and galloped into 
camp, making the night hideous with our yelling. 
The longest dry drive of the trip had been success 
fully made, and we all felt jubilant. We stripped 
bridles and saddles from our tired horses, and 
unrolling our beds, were soon lost in well-earned 
sleep. 

The stars may have twinkled overhead, and sun 
dry voices of the night may have whispered to us 
as we lay down to sleep, but we were too tired for 
poetry or sentiment that night. 


i/ 


I/ 


CHAPTER XXI 

THE YELLOWSTONE 

THE tramping of our remuda as they came trotting 
up to the wagon the next morning, and Honey- 
man s calling, &quot;Horses, horses,&quot; brought us to 
the realization that another day had dawned with 
its duty. McCann had stretched the ropes of our 
corral, for Flood was as dead to the world as any 
of us were, but the tramping of over a hundred 
and forty horses and mules, as they crowded inside 
the ropes, brought him into action as well as the 
rest of us. ^We had haiLa^good five hours sleep, 
while our mounts had been tra^formed~frT5nTgaunt 
animals to round -barreled saddle horses, that 
fought and struggled amongst themselves or art-* 
fully dodged the lariat loops which were being cast 
after them. Honeyman reported the herd quietly 
grazing across the river, and after securing our 
mounts for the morning, we breakfasted before 
looking after the cattle. It took us less than an 
hour to round up and count the cattle, and turn 
them loose again under herd to graze. Those of 
us not on herd returned to the wagon, and our 
foreman instructed McCann to make a two hours 
drive down the river and camp for noon, as he pro- 


THE YELLOWSTONE 327 

posed only to graze the herd that morning. After 
seeing the wagon safely beyond the rocky crossing, 
we hunted up a good bathing pool and disported 
ourselves for half an hour, taking a much needed 
bath. There were trails on either side of the 
Powder, and as our course was henceforth to the 
northwest, we remained on the west side and grazed 
or trailed down it. It was a beautiful stream of 
water, having its source in the Big Horn Moun 
tains, frequently visible on our left. For the next 
four or five days we had easy work. There were 
range cattle through that section, but fearful of 
Texas fever, their owners gave the Powder Eiver 
a wide berth. With the exception of holding the 
herd at night, our duties were light. We caught 
fish and killed grouse ; and the respite seemed like 
a holiday after our experience of the past few days. 
During the evening of the second day after reach 
ing the Powder, we crossed the Crazy Woman, a 
clear mountainous fork of the former river, and 
nearly as large as the parent stream. Once or 
twice we encountered range riders, and learned 
that the Crazy Woman was a stock country, a num 
ber of beef ranches being located on it, stocked with 
Texas cattle. 

Somewhere near or about the Montana line, we 
took a left-hand trail. Flood had ridden it out 
until he had satisfied himself that it led over to 
the Tongue Kiver and the country beyond. While 
large trails followed on down the Powder, their 


328 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

direction was wrong for us, as they led towards the 
Bad Lands and the lower Yellowstone country. 
On the second day out, after taking the left-hand 
trail, we encountered some rough country in pass 
ing across a saddle in a range of hills forming the 
divide between the Powder and Tongue rivers. 
We were nearly a whole day crossing it, but had 
a well-used trail to follow, and down in the foot 
hills made camp that night on a creek which emp 
tied into the Tongue. The roughness of the trail 
was well compensated for, however, as it was a par 
adise of grass and water. We reached the Tongue 
River the next afternoon, and found it a similar 
stream to the Powder, clear as crystal, swift, and 
with a rocky bottom. As these were but minor 
rivers, we encountered no trouble in crossing them, 
the greatest danger being to our wagon. On the 
Tongue we met range riders again, and from them 
we learned that this trail, which crossed the Yel 
lowstone at Frenchman s Ford, was the one in use 
by herds bound for the Musselshell and remoter 
points on the upper Missouri. From one rider we 
learned that the first herd of the present season 
which went through on this route were cattle win 
tered on the Niobrara in western Nebraska, whose 
destination was Alberta in the British possessions. 
This herd outclassed us in penetrating northward, 
though in distance they had not traveled half as 
far as our Circle Dots. 

After following the Tongue Eiver several days 


THE YELLOWSTONE 329 

and coming out on that immense plain tributary 
to the Yellowstone, the trail turned to the north 
west, gave us a short day s drive to the Rose 
bud River, and after following it a few miles, bore 
off again on the same quarter. In our rear hung 
the mountains with their sentinel peaks, while in 
our front stretched the valley tributary to the Yel 
lowstone, in extent, itself, an inland empire. The 
month was August, and, with the exception of cool 
nights, no complaint could be made, for that rare 
fied atmosphere was a tonic to man and beast, and 
there was pleasure in the primitive freshness of 
the country which rolled away on every hand. On 
leaving the Rosebud, two days travel brought us 
to the east fork of Sweet Grass, an insignificant 
stream, with a swift current and rocky crossings. 
In the first two hours after reaching it, we must 
have crossed it half a dozen times, following the 
grassy bottoms, which shifted from one bank to 
the other. When we were full forty miles dis 
tant from Frenchman s Ford on the Yellowstone, 
the wagon, in crossing Sweet Grass, went down a 
sidling bank into the bottom of the creek, the left 
hind wheel collided with a boulder in the water, 
dishing it, and every spoke in the wheel snapped 
off at the shoulder in the felloe. McCann never 
noticed it, but poured the whip into the mules, 
and when he pulled out on the opposite bank left 
the felloe of his wheel in the creek behind. The 
herd was in the lead at the time, and when Honey- 


330 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

man overtook us and reported the accident, we 
threw the herd off to graze, and over half the out 
fit returned to the wagon. 

When we reached the scene, McCann had recov 
ered the felloe, but every spoke in the hub was 
hopelessly ruined. Flood took in the situation at 
a glance. He ordered the wagon unloaded and 
the reach lengthened, took the axe, and, with The 
Rebel, went back about a mile to a thicket of lodge 
poles which we had passed higher up the creek. 
While the rest of us unloaded the wagon, McCann, 
who was swearing by both note and rhyme, un 
earthed his saddle from amongst the other plun 
der and cinched it on his nigh wheeler. We had 
the wagon unloaded and had reloaded some of the 
heaviest of the plunder in the front end of the 
wagon box, by the time our foreman and Priest 
returned, dragging from their pommels a thirty- 
foot pole as perfect as the mast of a yacht. We 
knocked off all the spokes not already broken at 
the hub of the ruined wheel, and after jacking up 
the hind axle, attached the &quot;crutch.&quot; By cutting 
a half notch in the larger end of the pole, so that it 
fitted over the front axle, lashing it there securely, 
and allowing the other end to trail behind on the 
ground, we devised a support on which the hub 
of the broken wheel rested, almost at its normal 
height. There was sufficient spring to the pole to 
obviate any jolt or jar, while the rearrangement we 
had effected in distributing the load would relieve 


THE YELLOWSTONE 331 

it of any serious burden. We took a rope from 
the coupling pole of the wagon and loosely noosed 
it over the crutch, which allowed leeway in turning, 
but prevented the hub from slipping off the sup 
port on a short turn to the left. Then we lashed 
the tire and felloe to the front end of the wagon, 
and with the loss of but a couple of hours our 
commissary was again on the move. 

The trail followed the Sweet Grass down to the 
Yellowstone; and until we reached it, whenever 
there were creeks to ford or extra pulls on hills, 
half a dozen of us would drop back and lend a 
hand from our saddle pommels. The gradual de 
cline of the country to the river was in our favor 
at present, and we should reach the ford in two 
days at the farthest, where we hoped to find a 
wheelwright. In case we did not, our foreman 
thought he could effect a trade for a serviceable 
wagon, as ours was a new one and the best make 
in the market. The next day Flood rode on ahead 
to Frenchman s Ford, and late in the day returned 
with the information that the Ford was quite a 
pretentious frontier village of the squatter type. 
There was a blacksmith and a wheelwright shop 
in the town, but the prospect of an exchange 
was discouraging, as the wagons there were of the 
heavy freighting type, while ours was a wide tread 
a serious objection, as wagons manufactured for 
southern trade were eight inches wider than those 
in use in the north, and therefore would not track 


332 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

on the same road, i The wheelwright had assured 
Flood that the wheel could be filled in a day, with 
the exception of painting, and as paint was not 
important, he had decided to move up within three 
or four miles of the Ford and lie over a day for 
repairing the wagon, and at the same time have 
our mules reshod. Accordingly we moved up the 
next morning, and after unloading the wagon, both 
box and contents, over half the outfit the first 
and second guards accompanied the wagon into 
the Ford. They were to return by noon, when the 
remainder of us were to have our turn in seeing 
the sights of Frenchman s Ford. The horse wran 
gler remained behind with us, to accompany the 
other half of the outfit in the afternoon. The herd 
was no trouble to hold, and after watering about 
the middle of the forenoon, three of us went into 
camp and got dinner. As this was the first time 
since starting that our cook was absent, we rather 
enjoyed the opportunity to practice our culinary 
skill. Pride in our ability to cook was a weakness 
in our craft. The work was divided up between 
Joe Stallings, John Officer, and myself, Honeyman 
being excused on agreeing to rustle the wood and 
water. Stallings prided himself on being an artist 
in making coffee, and while hunting for the coffee 
mill, found a bag of dried peaches. 

&quot;Say, fellows,&quot; said Joe, &quot;I 11 bet McCann has 
hauled this fruit a thousand miles and never knew 
he had it amongst all this plunder. I m going to 


THE YELLOWSTONE 333 

stew a saucepan full of it, just to show his royal 
nibs that he s been thoughtless of his boarders.&quot; 

Officer volunteered to cut and fry the meat, for 
we were eating stray beef now with great regular 
ity; and the making of the biscuits fell to me. 
Honeyman soon had a fire so big that you could 
not have got near it without a wet blanket on ; and 
when my biscuits were ready for the Dutch oven, 
Officer threw a bucket of water on the fire, re 
marking: &quot;Honeyman, if you was cusi segundo 
under me, and built up such a big fire for the chef, 
there would be trouble in camp. You may be a 
good enough horse wrangler for a through Texas 
outfit, but when it comes to playing second fid 
dle to a cook of my accomplishments well, you 
simply don t know salt from wild honey. A man 
might as well try to cook on a burning haystack 
as on a fire of your building.&quot; 

When the fire had burned down sufficiently, 
the cooks got their respective utensils upon the 
fire ; I had an ample supply of live coals for the 
Dutch oven, and dinner was shortly afterwards 
announced as ready. After dinner, Officer and I 
relieved the men on herd, but over an hour passed 
before we caught sight of the first and second 
guards returning from the Ford. They were men 
who could stay in town all day and enjoy them 
selves; but, as Flood had reminded them, there 
were others who were entitled to a holiday. When 
Bob Blades and Fox Quarternight came to our 


\/ 


334 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

relief on herd, they attempted to detain us with a 
description of Frenchman s Ford, but we cut all 
conversation short by riding away to camp. 

&quot; We 11 just save them the trouble, and go in 
and see it for ourselves,&quot; said Officer to me, as we 
galloped along. We had left word with Honey- 
man what horses we wanted to ride that after 
noon, and lost little time in changing mounts; 
then we all set out to pay our respects to the 
mushroom village on the Yellowstone. Most of 
us had money; and those of the outfit who had 
returned were clean shaven and brought the report 
that a shave was two -bits and a drink the same 
price. The town struck me as something new 
and novel, two thirds of the habitations being of 
canvas. Immense quantities of buffalo hides were 
drying or already baled, and waiting transporta 
tion as we afterward learned to navigable points 
on the Missouri. Large bull trains were encamped 
on the outskirts of the village, while many such 
outfits were in town, receiving cargoes or dis 
charging freight. The drivers of these ox trains 
lounged in the streets and thronged the saloons and 
, gambling resorts. The population was extremely 
mixed, and almost every language could be heard 
spoken on the streets. The men were fine types 
of the pioneer, buffalo hunters, freighters, and 
other plainsmen, though hardly as picturesque in 
figure and costume as a modern artist would paint 
them. For native coloring, there were typical 


THE YELLOWSTONE 335 

specimens of northern Indians, grunting their jar 
gon amid the babel of other tongues ; and groups 
of squaws wandered through the irregular streets 
in gaudy blankets and red calico. The only civi 
lizing element to be seen was the camp of engi 
neers, running the survey of the Northern Pacific 
railroad. 

Tying our horses in a group to a hitch-rack in &quot;j 
the rear of a saloon called The Buffalo Bull, we 
entered by a rear door and lined up at the bar for 
our first drink since leaving Ogalalla. Games oJ 
chance were running in the rear for those who fel 
inclined to try their luck, while in front of the bar 
against the farther wall, were a number of small 
tables, around which were seated the patrons o: 
the place, playing for the drinks. One couldn t 
help being impressed with the unrestrained free-i 
dom of the village, whose sole product seemed toj 
be buffalo hides. Every man in the place word 
the regulation six-shooter in his belt, and quite a 
number wore two. The primitive law of nature 
known as self-preservation, was very evident in 
August of 82 at Frenchman s Ford. It reminded 
me of the early days at home in Texas, where, on 
arising in the morning, one buckled on his six- 
shooter as though it were part of his dress. After 
a second round of drinks, we strolled out into the 
front street to look up Flood and McCann, and in 
cidentally get a shave. We soon located McCann, 
who had a hunk of dried buffalo meat, and was 


336 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

- chipping it oft and feeding it to some Indian chil 
dren whose acquaintance he seemed to be culti 
vating. On sighting us. he gave the children the 
remainder of the jerked buffalo, and at once placed 
himself at our disposal as guide to Frenchman s 
Ford. He had been all over the town that morn 
ing; knew the name of every saloon and those of 
several barkeepers as well; pointed out the bullet 
holes in a log building where the last shooting 
scrape occurred, and otherwise showed us the sights 
in the village which we might have overlooked. 
A barber shop? Why, certainly; and he led the 
way, informing us that the wagon wheel would be 
filled by evening, that the mules were already shod, 
and that Flood had ridden down to the crossing to 
look at the ford. 

\S Two barbers turned us out rapidly, and as we 
r\ left we continued to take in the town, strolling by 

I pairs and drinking moderately as we went. Flood 
had returned in the mean time, and seemed rather 
convivial and quite willing to enjoy the enforced 
lay-over with us. While taking a drink in Yellow 
stone Bob s place, the foreman took occasion to 
call the attention of The Rebel to a cheap litho 
graph of General Grant which hung behind the 
bar. The two discussed the merits of the picture, 
and Priest, who was an admirer of the magnanim 
ity as well as the military genius of Grant, spoke 
in reserved yet favorable terms of the general, 
when Flood flippantly chided him on his eulogistic 


THE YELLOWSTONE 337 

remarks over an officer to whom he had once been 
surrendered. The Eebel took the chaffing in all 
good humor, and when our glasses were filled, 
Flood suggested to Priest that since he was such 
an admirer of Grant, possibly he wished to pro 
pose a toast to the general s health. 

&quot;You re young, Jim,&quot; said The Eebel, &quot;and if 
you d gone through what I have, your views of 
things might be different. My admiration for the 
generals on our side survived wounds, prisons, and 
changes of fortune; but time has tempered my 
views on some things, and now I don t enthuse 
over generals when the men of the ranks who made 
them famous are forgotten. Through the fortunes 
of war, I saluted Grant when we were surrendered, 
but I wouldn t propose a toast or take off my hat 
now to any man that lives.&quot; 

During the comments of The Kebel, a stranger, 
who evidently overheard them, rose from one of the 
tables in the place and sauntered over to the end 
of the bar, an attentive listener to the succeeding 
conversation. He was a younger man than Priest, 
with a head of heavy black hair reaching his 
shoulders, while his dress was largely of buckskin, 
profusely ornamented with bead work and fringes. 
He was armed, as was every one else, and from 
his languid demeanor as well as from his smart 
appearance, one would classify him at a passing 
glance as a frontier gambler. As we turned away 
from the bar to an unoccupied table, Priest waited 


338 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

for his change, when the stranger accosted him 
with an inquiry as to where he was from. In the 
conversation that ensued, the stranger, who had 
noticed the good-humored manner in which The 
Rebel had taken the chiding of our foreman, pre 
tended to take him to task for some of his remarks. 
But in this he made a mistake. What his friends 
might safely say to Priest would be treated as an 
insult from a stranger. Seeing that he would not 
stand his chiding, the other attempted to mollify 
him by proposing they have a drink together and 
part friendly, to which The Rebel assented. I 
was pleased with the favorable turn of affairs, for 
my bunkie had used some rather severe language 
in resenting the remarks of the stranger, which 
now had the promise of being dropped amicably. 

I knew the temper of Priest, and so did Flood 
and Honeyman, and we were all anxious to get him 
away from the stranger. So I asked our foreman 
as soon as they had drunk together, to go over and 
11 Priest we were waiting for him to make up a 
me of cards. The two were standing at the bar 
n a most friendly attitude, but as they raised their 
lasses to drink, the stranger, holding his at arm s 
ength, said : &quot;Here s a toast for you : To General 
rant, the ablest &quot; 

But the toast was never finished, for Priest 
shed the contents of his glass in the stranger s 
, and calmly replacing the glass on the bar, 
bkcked across the room towards us. When half- 


THE YELLOWSTONE 339 

way across, a sudden movement on the part of the 
stranger caused him to halt. But it seemed the 
picturesque gentleman beside the bar was only 
searching his pockets for a handkerchief. 

&quot;Don t get your hand on that gun you wear,&quot; 
said The Kebel, whose blood was up, &quot;unless you 
intend to use it. But you can t shoot a minute 
too quick to suit me. What do you wear a gun 
for, anyhow? Let s see how straight you can 
shoot.&quot; 

As the stranger made no reply, Priest contin 
ued, &quot;The next time you have anything to rub 
in, pick your man better. The man who insults 
me 11 get all that s due him for his trouble.&quot; 
Still eliciting no response, The Eebel taunted him 
further, saying, &quot; Go on and finish your toast, you 
patriotic beauty. I ll give you another: Jeff 
Davis and the Southern Confederacy.&quot; 

&quot;We all rose from the table, and Flood, going 
over to Priest, said, &quot;Come along, Paul we don t 
want to have any trouble here. Let s go across 
the street and have a game of California Jack.&quot; 

But The Eebel stood like a chiseled statue, ignor 
ing the friendly counsel of our foreman, while the 
stranger, after wiping the liquor from his face and 
person, walked across the room and seated himself 
at the table from which he had risen. A stillness 
as of death pervaded the room, which was only 
broken by our foreman repeating his request to 
Priest to come away, but the latter replied, &quot;No; 


340 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

when I leave this place it will not be done in fear 
f any one. When any man goes out of his way 
o insult me he must take the consequences, and 
e can always find me if he wants satisfaction. 
We 11 take another drink before we go. Every- 
ody in the house, come up and take a drink with 
&amp;gt;aul Priest.&quot; 

The inmates of the place, to the number of pos- 
ibly twenty, who had been witness to what had 
ccurred, accepted the invitation, quitting their 
ames and gathering around the bar. Priest took 

position at the end of the bar, where he could 
otice any movement on the part of his adversary 
s well as the faces of his guests, and smiling on 
hem, said in true hospitality, &quot;What will you 
ave, gentlemen?&quot; There was a forced effort on 
part of the drinkers to appear indifferent to 
situation, but with the stranger sitting sullenly 
their rear and an iron-gray man standing at 
le farther end of the line, hungering for an oppor- 
unity to settle differences with six-shooters, their 
ndifference was an empty mockery. Some of the 
layers returned to their games, while others saun- 

red into the street, yet Priest showed no dispo- 
ition to go. After a while the stranger walked 
ver to the bar and called for a glass of whiskey. 

The Rebel stood at the end of the bar, calmly 
oiling a cigarette, and as the stranger seemed not 

notice him, Priest attracted his attention and 
aid, &quot;I m just passing through here, and shall 


THE YELLOWSTONE 341 

only be in town this afternoon ; so if there s any 
thing between us that demands settlement, don t 
hesitate to ask for it.&quot; 

The stranger drained his glass at a single gulp, 
and with admirable composure replied, &quot;If there s 
anything between us, we 11 settle it in due time, 
and as men usually settle such differenced in this 
country. I have a friend or two in town, and as 
soon as I see them, you will receive notice, or you 
may consider the matter dropped. That a all I 
care to say at present.&quot; 

He walked away to the rear of the room, Priest 
joined us, and we strolled out of the place. In 
the street, a grizzled, gray-bearded man, who had 
drunk with him inside, approached my bunkie and 
said, &quot;You want to watch that fellow. He claims 
to be from the Gallatin country, but he is n t, for I 
live there. There s a pal with him, and they ve 
got some good horses, but I know every brand on 
the headwaters of the Missouri, and their horses 
were never bred on any of its three forks. Don t 
give him any the best of you. Keep an eye on him, 
comrade.&quot; After this warning, the old man turned 
into the first open door, and we crossed over to 
the wheelwright s shop; and as the wheel would 
not be finished for several hours yet, we continued 
our survey of the town, and our next landing was 
at The Buffalo Bull. On entering we found four 
of our men in a game of cards at the very first 
table, while Officer was reported as being in the 


342 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

gambling room in the rear. The only vacant table 
in the bar-room was the last one in the far corner, 
and calling for a deck of cards, we occupied it. I 
sat with my back to the log wall of the low one- 
story room, while on my left and fronting the 
door, Priest took a seat with Flood for his pardner, 
while Honey man fell to me. After playing a few 
hands, Flood suggested that Billy go forward and 
exchange seats with some of our outfit, so as to be 
near the door, where he could see any one that en 
tered, while from his position the rear door would 
be similarly guarded. Under this change, Rod 
&quot;Wheat came back to our table and took Honey- 
man s place. We had been playing along for an 
hour, with people passing in and out of the gam 
bling room, and expected shortly to start for camp, 
when Priest s long-haired adversary came in at the 
front door, and, walking through the room, passed 
into the gambling department. 

John Officer, after winning a few dollars in 
the card room, was standing alongside watching 
our game; and as the stranger passed by, Priest 
sjave him the wink, on which Officer followed the 
stranger and a heavy-set companion who was with 
him into the rear room. We had played only a 
few hands when the heavy-set man came back to 
the bar, took a drink, and walked over to watch 
a game of cards at the second table from the front 
door. Officer came back shortly afterward, and 
Whispered to us that there were four of them to 


THE YELLOWSTONE 343 

look out for, as he had seen them conferring to 
gether. Priest seemed the least concerned of any 
of us, but I noticed he eased the holster on his bell 
forward, where it would be ready to his hand. We 
had called for a round of drinks, Officer taking 
one with us, when two men came out of the gam 
bling hell, and halting at the bar, pretended to 
divide some money which they wished to have it 
appear they had won in the card room. Their 
conversation was loud and intended to attract at 
tention, but Officer gave us the wink, and their 
ruse was perfectly understood. After taking 
drink and attracting as much attention as possible 
over the division of the money, they separated, 
but remained in the room. 

I was dealing the cards a few minutes later, when 
the long-haired man emerged from the gambling 
hell, and imitating the maudlin, sauntered up to 
the bar and asked for a drink. After being served, 
he walked about halfway to the door, then whirl 
ing suddenly, stepped to the end of the bar, placec 
his hands upon it, sprang up and stood upright 
on it. He whipped out two six-shooters, let loose 
a yell which caused a commotion throughout the 
room, and walked very deliberately the length of 
the counter, his attention centred upon the occu 
pants of our table. Not attracting the notice h 
expected in our quarter, he turned, and slow! 
repaced the bar, hurling anathemas on Texas an 
Texans in general. 


344 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

I saw The Rebel s eyes, steeled to intensity, 
meet Flood s across the table, and in that glance 
of our foreman he evidently read approval, for he 
rose rigidly with the stealth of a tiger, and for the 
first time that day his hand went to the handle of 
his six-shooter. One of the two pretended winners 
at cards saw the movement in our quarter, and 
sang out as a warning, &quot;Cuidado, mucho.&quot; The 
man on the bar whirled on the word of warning, 
and blazed away with his two guns into our corner. 
I had risen at the word and was pinned against the 
wall, where on the first fire a rain of dirt fell from 
the chinking in the wall over my head. As soon 
as the others sprang away from the table, I kicked 
it over in clearing myself, and came to my feet 
just as The Rebel fired his second shot. I had 
the satisfaction of seeing his long-haired adversary 
reel backwards, firing his guns into the ceiling 
as he went, and in falling crash heavily into the 
lassware on the back bar. 

The smoke which filled the room left nothing 

isible for a few moments. Meantime Priest, sat- 

sfied that his aim had gone true, turned, passed 

through the rear room, gained his horse, and was 

galloping away to the herd before any semblance 

of order was restored. As the smoke cleared away 

and we passed forward through the room, John 

Officer had one of the three pardners standing with 

his hands to the wall, while his six-shooter lay on 

the floor under Officer s foot. He had made but 


THE YELLOWSTONE 345 

one shot into our corner, when the muzzle of a 
gun was pushed against his ear with an imperative 
order to drop his arms, which he had promptly 
done. The two others, who had been under the 
surveillance of our men at the forward table, never 
made a move or offered to bring a gun into action, 
and after the killing of their picturesque pardner 
passed together out of the house. There had been 
five or six shots fired into our corner, but the first 
double shot, fired when three of us were still sit 
ting, went too high for effect, while the remainder 
were scattering, though Rod Wheat got a bullet 
through his coat, close enough to burn the skin on 
his shoulder. 

The dead man was laid out on the floor of the 
saloon; and through curiosity, for it could hardly 
have been much of a novelty to the inhabitants 
of Frenchman s Ford, hundreds came to gaze on 
the corpse and examine the wounds, one above the 
other through his vitals, either of which would 
have been fatal. Officer s prisoner admitted that 
the dead man was his pardner, and offered to re 
move the corpse if released. On turning his six- 
shooter over to the proprietor of the place, he was 
given his freedom to depart and look up his friends. 

As it was after sundown, and our wheel was 
refilled and ready, we set out for camp, where we 
found that Priest had taken a fresh horse and 
started back over the trail. No one felt any un 
easiness over his absence, for he had demonstrated 


346 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

his ability to protect himself; and truth compels 
me to say that the outfit to a man was proud of 
him. Honey man was substituted on our guard in 
The Rebel s place, sleeping with me that night, 
and after we were in bed, Billy said in his enthusi 
asm: &quot;If that horse thief had not relied on pot 
shooting, and had been modest and only used one 
gun, he might have hurt some of you fellows. But 
when I saw old Paul raising his gun to a level as 
he shot, I knew he was cool and steady, and I d 
rather died right there than see him fail to get his 


CHAPTER XXII 

OUK LAST CAMP-FIRE 

BY early dawn the next morning we were astir at 
our last camp on Sweet Grass, and before the 
horses were brought in, we had put on the wagon 
box and reloaded our effects. The rainy season 
having ended in the mountain regions, the stage 
of water in the Yellowstone would present no diffi 
culties in fording, and our foreman was anxious to 
make a long drive that day so as to make up for 
our enforced lay-over. We hafl breakfasted by 
the time the horses were corralled, and when we 
overtook the grazing herd, the cattle were within a 
mile of the river. Flood had looked over the ford 
the day before, and took one point of the herd as 
we went down into the crossing. The water was 
quite chilly to the cattle, though the horses in the 
lead paid little attention to it, the water in no 
place being over three feet deep. A number of 
spectators had come up from Frenchman s to watch 
the herd ford, the crossing being about half a mile 
above the village. No one made any inquiry for 
Priest, though ample opportunity was given them 
to see that the gray-haired man was missing. Af 
ter the herd had crossed, a number of us lent a 


348 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

rope in assisting the wagon over, and when we 
reached the farther bank, we waved our hats to 
the group on the south side in farewell to them 
and to Frenchman s Ford. 

The trail on leaving the river led up Many Ber 
ries, one of the tributaries of the Yellowstone put 
ting in from the north side; and we paralleled it 
mile after mile. It was with difficulty that riders 
could be kept on the right hand side of the herd, 
for along it grew endless quantities of a species of 
upland huckleberry, and, breaking off branches, 
we feasted as we rode along. The grade up this 
creek was quite pronounced, for before night the 
channel of the creek had narrowed to several yards 
in width. On the second day out the wild fruit 
disappeared early in the morning, and after a con 
tinued gradual climb, we made camp that night on 
the summit of the divide within plain sight of the 
Musselshell River. From this divide there was a 
splendid view of the surrounding country as far 
as eye could see. To our right, as we neared the 
summit, we could see in that rarefied atmosphere 
the buttes, like sentinels on duty, as they dotted the 
immense tableland between the Yellowstone and 
the mother Missouri, while on our left lay a thou 
sand hills, untenanted save by the deer, elk, and 
a remnant of buffalo. Another half day s drive 
brought us to the shoals on the Musselshell, about 
twelve miles above the entrance of Flatwillow 
Creek. It was one of the easiest crossings we had 


OUR LAST CAMP-FIRE 349 

encountered in many a day, considering the size 
of the river and the flow of water. Long before 
the advent of the white man, these shoals had been 
in use for generations by the immense herds of 
buffalo and elk migrating back and forth between 
their summer ranges and winter pasturage, as the 
converging game trails on either side indicated. 
It was also an old Indian ford. After crossing 
and resuming our afternoon drive, the cattle trail 
ran within a mile of the river, and had it not been 
for the herd of northern wintered cattle, and pos 
sibly others, which had passed along a month or 
more in advance of us, it would have been hard to 
determine which were cattle and which were game 
trails, the country being literally cut up with these 
pathways. 

When within a few miles of the Flatwillow, the 
trail bore off to the northwest, and we camped that 
night some distance below the junction of the 
former creek with the Big Box Elder. Before our 
watch had been on guard twenty minutes that night, 
we heard some one whistling in the distance; and 
as whoever it was refused to come any nearer the 
herd, a thought struck me, and I rode out into the 
darkness and hailed him. 

&quot;Is that you, Tom?&quot; came the question to my 
challenge, and the next minute I was wringing the 
hand of my old bunkie, The Rebel. I assured him 
that the coast was clear, and that no inquiry had 
been even made for him the following morning, 


350 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

when crossing the Yellowstone, by any of the in 
habitants of Frenchman s Ford. He returned 
with me to the bed ground, and meeting Honey- 
man as he circled around, was almost unhorsed by 
the latter s warmth of reception, and Officer s 
delight on meeting my bunkie was none the less 
demonstrative. For nearly half an hour he rode 
around with one or the other of us, and as we knew 
he had had little if any sleep for the last three 
nights, all of us begged him to go on into camp 
and go to sleep. But the old rascal loafed around 
with us on guard, seemingly delighted with our 
company and reluctant to leave. Finally Honey- 
man and I prevailed on him to go to the wagon, 
but before leaving us he said, &quot;Why, I ve been 
in sight of the herd for the last day and night, but 
I m getting a little tired of lying out with the dry 
cattle these cool nights, and living on huckleber 
ries and grouse, so I thought I d just ride in and 
get a fresh horse and a square meal once more. 
But if Flood says stay, you 11 see me at my old 
place on the point to-morrow.&quot; 

Had the owner of the herd suddenly appeared in 
camp, he could not have received such an ovation 
as was extended Priest the next morning when 
his presence became known. From the cook to 
the foreman, they gathered around our bed, where 
The Kebel sat up in the blankets and held an in 
formal reception ; and two hours afterward he was 
riding on the right point of the herd as if nothing 


OUR LAST CAMP-FIRE 351 

had happened. We had a fair trail up Big Box 
Elder, and for the following few days, or until the 
source of that creek was reached, met nothing to 
check our course. Our foreman had been riding 
in advance of the herd, and after returning to us 
at noon one day, reported that the trail turned a 
due northward course towards the Missouri, and 
all hbrds had seemingly taken it. As we had to 
touch at Fort Benton, which was almost due west 
ward, he had concluded to quit the trail and try 
to intercept the military road running from Fort 
Maginnis to Benton. Maginnis lay to the south 
of us, and our foreman hoped to strike the military 
road at an angle on as near a westward course as 
possible. 

Accordingly after dinner he set out to look out 
the country, and took me with him. We bore 
off toward the Missouri, and within half an hour s 
ride after leaving the trail we saw some loose 
horses about three miles distant, down in a little 
valley through which flowed a creek towards the 
Musselshell. We reined in and watched the horses 
several minutes, when we both agreed from their 
movements that they were hobbled. We scouted 
out some five or six miles, finding the country 
somewhat rough, but passable for a herd and 
wagon. Flood was anxious to investigate those 
hobbled horses, for it bespoke the camp of some 
one in the immediate vicinity. On our return, the 
horses were still in view, and with no little diffi- 


352 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

culty, we descended from the mesa into the valley 
And reached them. To our agreeable surprise, one 
of them was wearing a bell, while nearly half of 
them were hobbled, there being twelve head, the 
greater portion of which looked like pack horses. 
Supposing the camp, if there was one, must be up 
in the hills, we followed a bridle path up stream 
in search of it, and soon came upon four men, 
placer mining on the banks of the creek. 

When we made our errand known, one of these 
placer miners, an elderly man who seemed familiar 
with the country, expressed some doubts about our 
leaving the trail, though he said there was a bridle 
path with which he was acquainted across to the 
military road. Flood at once offered to pay him 
well if he would pilot us across to the road, or 
near enough so that we could find our way. The 
old placerman hesitated, and after consulting 
among his partners, asked how we were fixed for 
provision, explaining that they wished to remain a 
month or so longer, and that game had been scared 
away from the immediate vicinity, until it had be 
come hard to secure meat. But he found Flood 
ready in that quarter, for he immediately offered 
to kill a beef and load down any two pack horses 
they had, if he would consent to pilot us over to 
within striking distance of the Fort Benton road. 
The offer was immediately accepted, and I was 
dispatched to drive in their horses. Two of the 
placer miners accompanied us back to the trail, 


OUR LAST CAMP-FIRE 353 

both riding good saddle horses and leading two 
others under pack saddles. We overtook the herd 
within a mile of the point where the trail was to 
be abandoned, and after sending the wagon ahead, 
our foreman asked our guests to pick out any cow 
or steer in the herd. When they declined, he cut 
out a fat stray cow which had come into the herd 
down on the North Platte, had her driven in after 
the wagon, killed and quartered. When we had 
laid the quarters on convenient rocks to cool and 
harden during the night, our future pilot timidly 
inquired what we proposed to do with the hide, 
and on being informed that he was welcome to it, 
seemed delighted, remarking, as I helped him to 
stake it out where it would dry, that &quot;rawhide 
was mighty handy repairing pack saddles.&quot; 

Our visitors interested us, for it is probable 
that not a man in our outfit had ever seen a miner 
before, though we had read of the life and were 
deeply interested in everything they did or said. 
They were very plain men and of simple manners, 
but we had great difficulty in getting them to talk. 
After supper, while idling away a couple of hours 
around our camp-fire, the outfit told stories, in the 
hope that our guests would become reminiscent and 
give us some insight into their experiences, Bob 
Blades leading off. 

&quot;I was in a cow town once up on the head of 
the Chishohn trail at a time when a church fair 
was being pulled off. There were lots of old long- 


354 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

horn cowmen living in the town, who owned cattle 
in that Cherokee Strip that Officer is always talk- 
Xing about. Well, there s lots of folks up there 
that think a nigger is as good as anybody else, and 
when you find such people set in their ways, it s 
best not to argue matters with them, but lay low 
and let on you think that way too. That s the 
way those old Texas cowmen acted about it. 

&quot;Well, at this church fair there was to be 
voted a prize of a nice baby wagon, which had 
been donated by some merchant, to the prettiest 
baby under a year old. Colonel Bob Zellers was 
in town at the time, stopping at a hotel where the 
darky cook was a man who had once worked for 
him on the trail. Frog, the darky, had married 
when he quit the colonel s service, and at the time 
of this fair there was a pickaninny in his family 
about a year old, and nearly the color of a new 
saddle. A few of these old cowmen got funny and 
thought it would be a good joke to have Frog enter 
his baby at the fair, and Colonel Bob being the 
leader in the movement, he had no trouble convin 
cing the darky that that baby wagon was his, if he 
would only enter his youngster. Frog thought the 
world of the old Colonel, and the latter assured him 
that he would vote for his baby while he had a 
dollar or a cow left. The result was, Frog gave 
his enthusiastic consent, and the Colonel agreed to 
enter the pickaninny in the contest. 

&quot;Well, the Colonel attended to the entering of 


OUR LAST CAMP-FIRE 355 

the baby s name, and then on the dead quiet went 
around and rustled up every cowman and puncher 
in town, and had them promise to be on hand, to 
vote for the prettiest baby at ten cents a throw. 
The fair was being held in the largest hall in town, 
and at the appointed hour we were all on hand, as 
well as Frog and his wife and baby. There were 
about a dozen entries, and only one blackbird in 
the covey. The list of contestants was read by the 
minister, and as each name was announced, there 
was a vigorous clapping of hands all over the house 
by the friends of each baby. But when the name 
of Miss Precilla June Jones was announced, the 
Texas contingent made their presence known by 
such a deafening outburst of applause that old 
Frog grinned from ear to ear he saw himself 
right then pushing that baby wagon. 

&quot;Well, on the first heat we voted sparingly, and 
as the vote was read out about every quarter hour, 
Precilla June Jones on the first turn was fourth in 
the race. On the second report, our favorite had 
moved up to third place, after which the weaker 
ones were deserted, and all the voting blood was 
centered on the two white leaders, with our black 
bird a close third. We were behaving ourselves 
nicely, and our money was welcome if we were n t. 
When the third vote was announced, Frog s picka 
ninny was second in the race, with her nose lapped 
on the flank of the leader. Then those who thought 
a darky was as good as any one else got on the 


356 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

prod in a mild form, and you could hear them voi 
cing their opinions all over the hall. We heard it 
all, but sat as nice as pie and never said a word. 

&quot; When the final vote was called for, we knew it 
was the home stretch, and every rascal of us got his 
weasel skin out and sweetened the voting on Miss 
Precilla June Jones. Some of those old long- 
horns didn t think any more of a twenty-dollar 
gold piece than I do of a white chip, especially 
when there was a chance to give those good people 
a dose of their own medicine. I don t know how 
many votes we cast on the last whirl, but we 
swamped all opposition, and our favorite cantered 
under the wire an easy winner. Then you should 
have heard the kicking, but we kept still and in 
wardly chuckled. The minister announced the 
winner, and some of those good people didn t have 
any better manners than to hiss and cut up ugly. 
We stayed until Frog got the new baby wagon in 
his clutches, when we dropped out casually and 
met at the Ranch saloon, where Colonel Zellers 
had taken possession behind the bar and was dis 
pensing hospitality in proper celebration of his 
victory.&quot; 

Much to our disappointment, our guests re 
mained silent and showed no disposition to talk, 
except to answer civil questions which Flood asked 
regarding the trail crossing on the Missouri, and 
what that river was like in the vicinity of old Fort 
Ben ton. When the questions had been answered, 


OUR LAST CAMP-FIRE 357 

they again relapsed into silence. The fire was re 
plenished, and after the conversation had touched 
on several subjects, Joe Stallings took his turn 
with a yarn. 

&quot;When my folks first came to Texas,&quot; said Joe, 
&quot;they settled in Ellis County, near Waxahachie. 
My father was one of the pioneers in that county 
at a time when his nearest neighbor lived ten miles 
from his front gate. But after the war, when the 
country had settled up, these old pioneers natural!/ 
hung together and visited and chummed with one 
another in preference to the new settlers. One 
spring when I was about fifteen years old, ono of 
those old pioneer neighbors of ours died, and my 
father decided that he would go to the funeral or 
burst a hame string. If any of you know anything 
about that black-waxy, hog-wallow land in Ellis 
County, you know that when it gets muddy in the 
spring a wagon wheel will fill solid with waxy 
mud. So at the time of this funeral it was impos 
sible to go on the road with any kind of a vehicle, 
and my father had to go on horseback. He was 
an old man at the time and didn t like the idea, 
but it was either go on horseback or stay at home, 
and go he would. 

&quot;They raise good horses in Ellis County, and 
my father had raised some of the best of them 
brought the stock from Tennessee. He liked good 
blood in -a horse, and was always opposed to racing, 
but he .^ised some boys who weren t. I had a 


358 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

number of brothers older than myself, and they 
took a special pride in trying every colt we raised, 
to see what he amounted to in speed. Of course 
this had to be done away from home ; but that was 
easy, for these older brothers thought nothing of 
riding twenty miles to a tournament, barbecue, or 
round-up, and when away from home they always 
tried their horses with the best in the country. 
At the time of this funeral, we had a crackerjack 
five year old chestnut sorrel gelding that could show 
his heels to any horse in the country. He was a 
peach, you could turn him on a saddle blan 
ket and jump him fifteen feet, and that cow never 
lived that he could n t cut. 

&quot; So the day of the funeral my father was in a 
quandary as to which horse to ride, but when he 
appealed to his boys, they recommended the best 
on the ranch, which was the chestnut gelding. My 
old man had some doubts as to his ability to ride 
the horse, for he hadn t been on a horse s back 
for years ; but my brothers assured him that the 
chestnut was as obedient as a kitten, and that be 
fore he had been on the road an hour the mud 
would take all the frisk and frolic out of him. 
There was nearly fifteen miles to go, and they as 
sured him that he would never get there if he rode 
any other horse. Well, at last he consented to 
ride the gelding, and the horse was made ready, 
properly groomed, his tail tied up, and saddled 
and led up to the block. It took every member 


OUR LAST CAMP-FIRE 359 

of the family to get my father rigged to start, but 
at last he announced himself as ready. Two of 
my brothers held the horse until he found the off 
stirrup, and then they turned him loose. The 
chestnut danced off a few rods, and settled down 
into a steady clip that was good for five or six 
miles an hour. 

&quot;My father reached the house in good time for 
the funeral services, but when the procession started 
for the burial ground, the horse was somewhat rest 
less and impatient from the cold. There was quite 
a string of wagons and other vehicles from the im 
mediate neighborhood which had braved the mud, 
and the line was nearly half a mile in length be 
tween the house and the graveyard. There were 
also possibly a hundred men on horseback bringing 
up the rear of the procession; and the chestnut, 
not understanding the solemnity of the occasion, 
was right on his mettle. Surrounded as he was by 
other horses, he kept his weather eye open for a 
race, for in coming home from dances and picnics 
with my brothers, he had often been tried in short 
dashes of half a mile or so. In order to get him 
out of the crowd of horses, my father dropped back 
with another pioneer to the extreme rear of the 
funeral line. 

&quot;When the procession was nearing the ceme 
tery, a number of horsemen, who were late, gal 
loped up in the rear. The chestnut, supposing a 
race was on, took the bit in his teeth and tore 


360 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

down past the procession as though it was a free- 
for-all Texas sweepstakes, the old man s white 
beard whipping the breeze in his endeavor to hold 
in the horse. Nor did he check him until the head 
of the procession had been passed. When my fa 
ther returned home that night, there was a family 
round-up, for he was smoking under the collar. 
Of course, my brothers denied having ever run the 
horse, and my mother took their part ; but the old 
gent knew a thing or two about horses, and shortly 
afterwards he got even with his boys by selling 
the chestnut, which broke their hearts properly.&quot; 

The elder of the two placer miners, a long-whis 
kered, pock-marked man, arose, and after walking 
out from the fire some distance returned and called 
our attention to signs in the sky, which he assured 
us were a sure indication of a change in the 
weather. But we were more anxious that he should 
talk about something else, for we were in the habit 
of taking the weather just as it came. When 
neither one showed any disposition to talk, Flood 
said to them, 

&quot;It s bedtime with us, and one of you can sleep 
with me, while I ve fixed up an extra bed for the 
other. I generally get out about daybreak, but if 
that s too early for you, don t let my getting up 
disturb you. And you fourth guard men, let the 
cattle off the bed ground on a due westerly course 
and point them up the divide. Now get to bed, 
everybody, for we want to make a big drive to- 


CHAPTER XXIII 

DELIVERY 

I SHALL never forget the next morning, August 
26, 1882. As we of the third guard were relieved, 
about two hours before dawn, the wind veered 
around to the northwest, and a mist which had been 
falling during the fore part of our watch changed 
to soft flakes of snow. As soon as we were re 
lieved, we skurried back to our blankets, drew the 
tarpaulin over our heads, and slept until dawn, 
when on being awakened by the foreman, we found 
a wet, slushy snow some two inches in depth on the 
ground. Several of the boys in the outfit declared 
it was the first snowfall they had ever seen, and I 
had but a slight recollection of having witnessed 
one in early boyhood in our old Georgia home. 
We gathered around the fire like a lot of frozen 
children, and our only solace was that our drive 
was near ing an end. The two placermen paid 
little heed to the raw morning, and our pilot as 
sured us that this was but the squaw winter which 
always preceded Indian summer. 

We made our customary early start, and while 
saddling up that morning, Flood and the two placer 
miners packed the beef on their two pack horses, 


362 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

first cutting off enough to last us several days. The 
cattle, when we overtook them, presented a sorry 
spectacle, apparently being as cold as we were, 
although we had our last stitch of clothing on, in 
cluding our slickers, belted with a horse hobble. 
But when Flood and our guide rode past the herd, 
I noticed our pilot s coat was not even buttoned, 
nor was the thin cotton shirt which he wore, but 
his chest was exposed to that raw morning air 
which chilled the very marrow in our bones. Our 
foreman and guide kept in sight in the lead, the 
herd traveling briskly up the long mountain divide, 
and about the middle of the forenoon the sun came 
out warm and the snow began to melt. Within 
an hour after starting that morning, Quince For 
rest, who was riding in front of me in the swing, 
dismounted, and picking out of the snow a brave 
little flower which looked something like a pansy, 
dropped back to me and said, &quot;My weather gauge 
says it s eighty-eight degrees below freezo. But 
I want you to smell this posy, Quirk, and tell me 
on the dead thieving, do you ever expect to see 
your sunny southern home again? And did you 
notice the pock-marked colonel, baring his brisket 
to the morning breeze?&quot; 

Two hours after the sun came out, the snow had 
disappeared, and the cattle fell to and grazed until 
long after the noon hour. Our pilot led us up the 
divide between the Missouri and the headwaters of 
the Musselshell during the afternoon, weaving in 


DELIVERY 363 

and out around the heads of creeks putting into 
either river ; and towards evening we crossed quite 
a creek running towards the Missouri, where we 
secured ample water for the herd. We made a 
late camp that night, and our guide assured us 
that another half day s drive would put us on the 
Judith River, where we would intercept the Fort 
Ben ton road. 

The following morning our guide led us for sev 
eral hours up a gradual ascent to the plateau, till 
we reached the tableland, when he left us to return 
to his own camp. Flood again took the lead, and 
within a mile we turned on our regular course, 
which by early noon had descended into the valley 
of the Judith River, and entered the Fort Magin- 
nis and Benton military road. Our route was now 
clearly defined, and about noon on the last day of 
the month we sighted, beyond the Missouri River, 
the flag floating over Fort Benton. We made a 
crossing that afternoon below the Fort, and Flood 
went into the post, expecting either to meet Lovell 
or to receive our final instructions regarding the 
delivery. 

After crossing the Missouri, we grazed the herd 
over to the Teton River, a stream which paralleled 
the former watercourse, the military post being 
located between the two. We had encamped for 
the night when Flood returned with word of a 
letter he had received from our employer and an 
interview he had had with the commanding officer 


364 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

of Fort Benton, who, it seemed, was to have a hand 
in the delivery of the herd. Lovell had been de 
tained in the final settlement of my brother Bob s 
herd at the Crow Agency by some differences re 
garding weights. Under our present instructions, 
we were to proceed slowly to the Blackf oot Agency, 
and immediately on the arrival of Lovell at Ben- 
ton, he and the commandant would follow by am 
bulance and overtake us. The distance from Fort 
Benton to the agency was variously reported to be 
from one hundred and twenty to one hundred and 
thirty miles, six or seven days travel for the herd 
at the farthest, and then good-by, Circle Dots ! 

A number of officers and troopers from the post 
overtook us the next morning and spent several 
hours with us as the herd trailed out up the Teton. 
They were riding fine horses, which made our 
through saddle stock look insignificant in compari 
son, though had they covered twenty-four hundred 
miles and lived on grass as had our mounts, some 
of the lustre of their glossy coats would have been 
absent. They looked well, but it would have been 
impossible to use them or any domestic bred horses 
in trail work like ours, unless a supply of grain 
could be carried with us. The range country pro 
duced a horse suitable to range needs, hardy and 
a good forager, which, when not overworked under 
the saddle, met every requirement of his calling, 
as well as being self-sustaining. Our horses, in 
fact, were in better flesh when we crossed the 


DELIVERY 365 

Missouri than they were the day we received the 
herd on the Eio Grande. The spectators from the 
fort quitted us near the middle of the forenoon, 
and we snailed on westward at our leisurely gait. 

There was a fair road up the Teton, which we 
followed for several days without incident, to the 
forks of that river, where we turned up Muddy 
Creek, the north fork of the Teton. That noon, 
while catching saddle horses, dinner not being 
quite ready, we noticed a flurry amongst the cattle, 
then almost a mile in our rear. Two men were 
on herd with them as usual, grazing them forward 
up the creek and watering as they came, when sud 
denly the cattle in the lead came tearing out of 
the creek, and on reaching open ground turned at 
bay. After several bunches had seemingly taken 
fright at the same object, we noticed Bull Durham, 
who was on herd, ride through the cattle to the 
scene of disturbance. We saw him, on nearing 
the spot, lie down on the neck of his horse, watch 
intently for several minutes, then quietly drop 
back to the rear, circle the herd, and ride for the 
wagon. We had been observing the proceedings 
closely, though from a distance, for some time. 
Daylight was evidently all that saved us from a 
stampede, and as Bull Durham galloped up he was 
almost breathless. He informed us that an old 
cinnamon bear and two cubs were berrying along 
the creek, and had taken the right of way. Then 
there was a hustling and borrowing of cartridges, 


366 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

while saddles were cinched on to horses as though 
human life depended on alacrity. We were all 
feeling quite gala anyhow, and this looked like a 
chance for some sport. It was hard to hold the 
impulsive ones in check until the others were 
ready. The cattle pointed us to the location of 
the quarry as we rode forward. When within a 
quarter of a mile, we separated into two squads, 
in order to gain the rear of the bears, cut them off 
from the creek, and force them into the open. 
The cattle held the attention of the bears until we 
had gained their rear, and as we came up between 
them and the creek, the old one reared up on her 
haunches and took a most astonished and innocent 
look at us. 

A single &quot;woof &quot; brought one of the cubs to her 
side, and she dropped on all fours and lumbered 
off, a half dozen shots hastening her pace in an 
effort to circle the horsemen who were gradually 
closing in. In making this circle to gain the pro 
tection of some thickets which skirted the creek, 
she was compelled to cross quite an open space^ and 
before she had covered the distance of fifty yards, 
a rain of ropes came down on her, and she was 
thrown backward with no less than four lariats 
fastened over her neck and fore parts. Then en 
sued a lively scene, for the horses snorted and in 
spite of rowels refused to face the bear. But ropes 
securely snubbed to pommels held them to the 
quarry. Two minor circuses were meantime in pro- 


DELIVERY 367 

gress with the two cubs, but pressure of duty held 
those of us who had fastened on to the old cinna 
mon. The ropes were taut and several of them 
were about her throat ; the horses were pulling in 
as many different directions, yet the strain of all 
the lariats failed to choke her as we expected. At 
this juncture, four of the loose men came to our 
rescue, and proposed shooting the brute. We 
were willing enough, for though we had better 
than a tail hold, we were very ready to let go. 
But while there were plenty of good shots among 
us, our horses had now become wary, and could 
not, when free from ropes, be induced to approach 
within twenty yards of the bear, and they were so 
fidgety that accurate aim was impossible. We who 
had ropes on the old bear begged the boys to get 
down and take it afoot, but they were not disposed 
to listen to our reasons, and blazed away from 
rearing horses, not one shot in ten taking effect. 
There was no telling how long this random shoot 
ing would have lasted ; but one shot cut my rope 
two feet from the noose, and with one rope less on 
her the old bear made some ugly surges, and had 
not Joe Stallings had a wheeler of a horse on the 
rope, she would have done somebody damage. 

The Rebel was on the opposite side from Stall- 
ings and myself, and as soon as I was freed, he 
called me around to him, and shifting his rope to 
me, borrowed my six-shooter and joined those who 
were shooting. Dismounting, he gave the reins of 


368 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

his horse to Flood, walked up to within fifteen 
steps of mother bruin, and kneeling, emptied both 
six-shooters with telling accuracy. The old bear 
winced at nearly every shot, and once she made an 
ugly surge on the ropes, but the three guy lines 
held her up to Priest s deliberate aim. The vital 
ity of that cinnamon almost staggers belief, for 
after both six-shooters had been emptied into her 
body, she floundered on the ropes with all her 
former strength, although the blood was dripping 
and gushing from her numerous wounds. Borrow 
ing a third gun, Priest returned to the fight, and 
as we slacked the ropes slightly, the old bear 
reared, facing her antagonist. The Rebel emptied 
his third gun into her before she sank, choked, 
bleeding, and exhausted, to the ground; and even 
then no one dared to approach her, for she struck 
out wildly with all fours as she slowly succumbed 
to the inevitable. 

One of the cubs had been roped and afterwards 

shot at close quarters, while the other had reached 

the creek and climbed a sapling which grew on 

the bank, when a few shots brought him to the 

ground. The two cubs were about the size of a 

small black bear, though the mother was a large 

specimen of her species. The cubs had nice coats 

! of soft fur, and their hides were taken as trophies 

of the fight, but the robe of the mother was a sum- 

i mer one and worthless. While we were skinning 

the cubs, the foreman called our attention to the 


DELIVERY 369 

fact that the herd had drifted up the creek nearly 
opposite the wagon. During the encounter with 
the bears he was the most excited one in the outfit, 
and was the man who cut my rope with his random 
shooting from horseback. But now the herd re 
covered his attention, and he dispatched some of 
us to ride around the cattle. When we met at 
the wagon for dinner, the excitement was still on 
us, and the hunt was unanimously voted the most 
exciting bit of sport and powder burning we had 
experienced on our trip. 

Late that afternoon a forage wagon from Fort 
Benton passed us with four loose ambulance mules 
in charge of five troopers, who were going on ahead 
to establish a relay station in anticipation of the 
trip of the post commandant to the Blackfoot 
Agency. There were to be two relay stations be 
tween the post and the agency, and this detachment 
expected to go into camp that night within forty 
miles of our destination, there to await the arrival 
of the commanding officer and the owner of the 
herd at Benton. These soldiers were out two days 
from the post when they passed us, and they as 
sured us that the ambulance would go through 
from Benton to Blackfoot without a halt, except 
for the changing of relay teams. The next fore 
noon we passed the last relay camp, well up the 
Muddy, and shortly afterwards the road left that 
creek, turning north by a little west, and we entered 
on the last tack of our long drive. On the even- 


370 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

ing of the 6th of September, as we were going into 
camp on Two Medicine Creek, within ten miles 
of the agency, the ambulance overtook us, under 
escort of the troopers whom we had passed at the 
last relay station. We had not seen Don Lovell 
since June, when we passed Dodge, and it goes 
without saying that we were glad to meet him 
again. On the arrival of the party, the cattle had 
not yet been bedded, so Lovell borrowed a horse, 
and with Flood took a look over the herd before 
darkness set in, having previously prevailed on the 
commanding officer to rest an hour and have sup 
per before proceeding to the agency. 

When they returned from inspecting the cattle, 
the commandant and Lovell agreed to make the 
final delivery on the 8th, if it were agreeable to 
the agent, and with this understanding continued 
their journey. The next morning Flood rode into 
the agency, borrowing McCann s saddle and tak 
ing an extra horse with him, having left us instruc 
tions to graze the herd all day and have them in 
good shape with grass and water, in case they were 
inspected that evening on their condition. Near 
the middle of the afternoon quite a cavalcade 
rode out from the agency, including part of a com 
pany of cavalry temporarily encamped there. The 
Indian agent and the commanding officer from 
Benton were the authorized representatives of the 
government, it seemed, as Lovell took extra pains 
in showing them over the herd, frequently consult- 


DELIVERY 371 

ing the contract which he held, regarding sex, age, j 
and flesh of the cattle. / 

The only hitch in the inspection was over a num 
ber of sore-footed cattle, which was unavoidable 
after such a long journey. But the condition of 
these tender-footed animals being otherwise satis 
factory, Lovell urged the agent and commandant 
to call up the men for explanations. The agent 
was no doubt a very nice man, and there may 
have been other things that he understood bette 
than cattle, for he did ask a great many simple, 
innocent questions. Our replies, however, might 
have been condensed into a few simple statements. 
We had, we related, been over five months on the 
trail; after the first month, tender-footed cattle 
began to appear from time to time in the herd, as 
stony or gravelly portions of the trail were encoun 
tered, the number so affected at any one time 
varying from ten to forty head. Frequently well- 
known lead cattle became tender in their feet and 
would drop back to the rear, and on striking soft 
or sandy footing recover and resume their position 
in the lead; that since starting, it was safe to say, 
fully ten per cent of the entire herd had been so 
affected, yet we had not lost a single head from 
this cause; that the general health of the animal 
was never affected, and that during enforced lay 
overs nearly all so affected recovered. As there 
were not over twenty-five sore-footed animals in 
the herd on our arrival, our explanation was suffi 


372 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

cient and the herd was accepted. There yet re* 
mained the counting and classification, but as this 
would require time, it went over until the follow 
ing day. The cows had been contracted for by 
the head, while the steers went on their estimated 
weight in dressed beef, the contract calling for a 
million pounds with a ten per cent leeway over 
that amount. 

I was amongst the first to be interviewed by the 
Indian agent, and on being excused, I made the 
acquaintance of one of two priests who were with 
the party. He was a rosy-cheeked, well-fed old 
padre, who informed me that he had been stationed 
among the Blackfeet for over twenty years, and 
that he had labored long with the government to 
assist these Indians. The cows in our herd, which 
were to be distributed amongst the Indian families 
for domestic purposes, were there at his earnest 
solicitation. I asked him if these cows would not 
perish during the long winter my recollection 
was still vivid of the touch of squaw winter we had 
experienced some two weeks previous. But he 
assured me that the winters were dry, if cold, and 
his people had made some progress in the ways of 
civilization, and had provided shelter and forage 
against the wintry weather. He informed me that 
previous to his labors amongst the Blackfeet their 
ponies wintered without loss on the native grasses, 
though he had since taught them to make hay, and 
in anticipation of receiving these cows, such fami- 


DELIVERY 373 

lies as were entitled to share in the division had 
amply provided for the animals sustenance. 

Lovell returned with the party to the agency, 
and we were to bring up the herd for classification 
early in the morning. Flood informed us that a 
beef pasture had been built that summer for the 
steers, while the cows would be held under herd by 
the military, pending their distribution. We spent 
our last night with the herd singing songs, until 
the first guard called the relief, when realizing 
the lateness of the hour, we burrowed into our 
blankets. 

&quot;I don t know how you fellows feel about it,&quot; 
said Quince Forrest, when the first guard were 
relieved and they had returned to camp, &quot;but I 
bade those cows good-by on their beds to-night 
without a regret or a tear. The novelty of night- 
herding loses its charm with me when it s drawn 
out over five months. I might be fool enough to 
make another such trip, but I d rather be the 
Indian and let the other fellow drive the cows to 
me there s a heap more comfort in it.&quot; 

The next morning, before we reached the agency, 
a number of gaudily bedecked bucks and squaws 
rode out to meet us. The arrival of the herd had 
been expected for several weeks, and our approach 
was a delight to the Indians, who were flocking to 
the agency from the nearest villages. Physically, 
they were fine specimens of the aborigines. But 
our Spanish, which Quarternight and I tried on 


374 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

them, was as unintelligible to them as their gut 
tural gibberish was to us. 

Lovell and the agent, with a detachment of the 
cavalry, met us about a mile from the agency build 
ings, and we were ordered to cut out the cows. 
The herd had been grazed to contentment, and 
were accordingly rounded in, and the task begun 
at once. Our entire outfit were turned into the 
herd to do the work, while an abundance of troop 
ers held the herd and looked after the cut. It 
took about an hour and a half, during which time 
we worked like Trojans. Cavalrymen several times 
attempted to assist us, but their horses were no 
match for ours in the work. A cow can turn on 
much less space than a cavalry horse, and except 
the amusement they afforded, the military were 
of very little effect. 

After we had retrimmed the cut, the beeves 
were started for their pasture, and nothing now 
remained but the counting to complete the receiv 
ing. Four of us remained behind with the cows, 
but for over two hours the steers were in plain 
sight, while the two parties were endeavoring to 
make a count. How many times they recounted 
them before agreeing on the numbers I do not 
know, for the four of us left with the cows be 
came occupied by a controversy over the sex of a 
young Indian a Blackf oot riding a cream-col 
ored pony. The controversy originated between 
Fox Quartern ight and Bob Blades, who had dis- 


DELIVERY 375 

covered this swell among a band who had just rid 
den in from the west, and John Officer and myself 
were appealed to for our opinions. The Indian 
was pointed out to us across the herd, easily dis 
tinguished by beads and beaver fur trimmings in 
the hair, so we rode around to pass our judgment 
as experts on the beauty. The young Indian was 
not over sixteen years of age, with remarkable 
features, from which every trace of the aborigine 
seemed to be eliminated. Officer and myself were 
in a quandary, for we felt perfectly competent 
when appealed to for our opinions on such a deli 
cate subject, and we made every endeavor to open 
a conversation by signs and speech. But the young 
Blackfoot paid no attention to us, being intent 
upon watching the cows. The neatly moccasined 
feet and the shapely hand, however, indicated the 
feminine, and when Blades and Quarternight rode 
up, we rendered our decision accordingly. Blades 
took exception to the decision and rode alongside 
the young Indian, pretending to admire the long 
plaits of hair, toyed with the beads, pinched and 
patted the young Blackfoot, and finally, although 
the rest of us, for fear the Indian might take of 
fense and raise trouble, pleaded with him to desist, 
he called the youth his &quot;squaw,&quot; when the young 
blood, evidently understanding the appellation, re 
laxed into a broad smile, and in fair English said, 
&quot;Me buck.&quot; 

Blades burst into a loud laugh at his success, at 


S76 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

which the Indian smiled but accepted a cigarette, 
and the two cronied together, while we rode away 
to look after our cows. The outfit returned shortly 
afterward, when The Rebel rode up to me and 
expressed himself rather profanely at the inability 
of the government s representatives to count cattle 
in Texas fashion. On the arrival of the agent and 
others, the cows were brought around; and these 
being much more gentle, and being under Lovell s 
instruction fed between the counters in the nar 
rowest file possible, a satisfactory count was agreed 
upon at the first trial. The troopers took charge 
of the cows after counting, and, our work over, 
we galloped away to the wagon, hilarious and care 
free. 

McCann had camped on the nearest water to the 
agency, and after dinner we caught out the top 
horses, and, dressed in our best, rode into the 
agency proper. There was quite a group of houses 
for the attaches, one large general warehouse, and 
several school and chapel buildings. I again met 
the old padre, who showed us over the place. One 
could not help being favorably impressed with the 
general neatness and cleanliness of the place. In 
answer to our questions, the priest informed us 
that he had mastered the Indian language early in 
his work, and had adopted it in his ministry, the 
better to effect the object of his mission. There 
was something touching in the zeal of this devoted 


DELIVERY 377 

padre in his work amongst the tribe, and the re 
cognition of the government had come as a fitting 
climax to his work and devotion. 

As we rode away from the agency, the cows be 
ing in sight under herd of a dozen soldiers, several 
of us rode out to them, and learned that they in 
tended to corral the cows at night, and within a 
week distribute them to Indian families, when the 
troop expected to return to Fort Ben ton. Lovell 
and Flood appeared at the camp about dusk 
Lovell in high spirits. This, he said, was the easi 
est delivery of the three herds which he had driven 
that year. He was justified in feeling well over 
the year s drive, for he had in his possession a 
voucher for our Circle Dots which would crowd six 
figures closely. It was a gay night with us, for 
man and horse were free, and as we made down 
our beds, old man Don insisted that Flood and 
he should make theirs down alongside ours. He 
and The Rebel had been joking each other during 
the evening, and as we went to bed were taking 
an occasional fling at one another as opportunity 
offered. 

&quot;It s a strange thing to me,&quot; said Lovell, as he 
was pulling off his boots, &quot;that this herd counted 
out a hundred and twelve head more than we 
started with, while Bob Quirk s herd was only 
eighty-one long at the final count.&quot; 

&quot;Well, you see,&quot; replied The Rebel, &quot;Quirk s 


378 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

was a steer herd, while ours had over a thousand 
cows in it, and you must make allowance for some 
of them to calve on the way. That ought to be 
easy figuring for a foxy, long-headed Yank like 
you.&quot; 


CHAPTER XXIV 

BACK TO TEXAS 

THE nearest railroad point from the Blackfoot 
Agency was Silver Bow, about a hundred and sev 
enty-five miles due south, and at that time the 
terminal of the Utah Northern Kailroad. Every 
thing connected with the delivery having been 
completed the previous day, our camp was astir 
with the dawn in preparation for departure on our 
last ride together. As we expected to make not 
less than forty miles a day on the way to the rail 
road, our wagon was lightened to the least possible 
weight. The chuck-box, water kegs, and such su 
perfluities were dropped, and the supplies reduced 
to one week s allowance, while beds were over 
hauled and extra wearing apparel of the outfit was 
discarded. Who cared if we did sleep cold and / / 
hadn t a change to our backs? We were going ** 
home and would have money in our pockets. 

&quot;The first thing I do when we strike that town t 
of Silver Bow,&quot; said Bull Durham, as he was put 
ting on his last shirt, &quot;is to discard to the skin 
and get me new togs to a finish. I 11 commence 
on my little pattering feet, which will require fif 
teen-dollar moccasins, and then about a six-dollar 


380 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

checked cottonade suit, and top off with a seven- 
dollar brown Stetson. Then with a few drinks 
under my belt and a rim -fire cigar in my mouth, 
I d admire to meet the governor of Montana if 
convenient.&quot; 

Before the sun was an hour high, we bade fare 
well to the Blackfoot Agency and were doubling 
back over the trail, with Lovell in our company. 
Our first night s camp was on the Muddy and the 
second on the Sun River. We were sweeping 
across the tablelands adjoining the main divide 
of the Rocky Mountains like the chinook winds 
which sweep that majestic range on its western 
slope. We were a freejoutfit ; even the cook and 
wrangler were relieved; their little duties were 
divided among the crowd and almost disappeared. 
There was a keen rivalry over driving the wagon, 
and McCann was transferred to the hurricane deck 
of a cow horse, which he sat with ease and grace, 
having served an apprenticeship in the saddle in 
other days. There were always half a dozen wran 
glers available in the morning, and we traveled 
as if under forced marching orders. The third 
night we camped in the narrows between the Mis 
souri River and the Rocky Mountains, and on the 
evening of the fourth day camped several miles 
to the eastward of Helena, the capital of the ter 
ritory. 

.Don Lovell had taken the stage for the capital 
\/l the night before ; and on making camp that even- 


BACK TO TEXAS 381 

ing, Flood took a fresh horse and rode into town. 
The next morning he and Lovell returned with the 
superintendent of the cattle company which had 
contracted for our horses and outfit on the Repub 
lican. We corralled the horses for him, and after 
roping out about a dozen which, as having sore 
backs or being lame, he proposed to treat as dam 
aged and take at half price, the remuda was counted 
out, a hundred and forty saddle horses, four mules, 
and a wagon constituting the transfer. Even with 
the loss of two horses and the concessions on a 
dozen others, there was a nice profit on the entire 
outfit over its cost in the lower country, due to 
the foresight of Don Lovell in mounting us well. 
Two of our fellows who had borrowed from the 
superintendent money to redeem their six-shooters 
after the horse race on the Republican, authorized 
Lovell to return him the loans and thanked him 
for the favor. Everything being satisfactory be 
tween buyer and seller, they returned to town to 
gether for a settlement, while we moved on south 
towards Silver Bow, where the outfit was to be 
delivered. 

Another day s easy travel brought us to within 
a mile of the railroad terminus; but it also brought 
us to one of the hardest experiences of our trip, 
for each of us knew, as we unsaddled our horses, 
that we were doing it for the last time. Although 
we were in the best of spirits over the successful 
conclusion of the drive; although we were glad to 


382 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

be free from herd duty and looked forward eagerly 
;o the journey home, there was still a Reeling of 
regret in our hearts which we could not dispel. In 
the days of my boyhood I have shed tears when a 
&quot;avorite horse was sold from our little ranch on 
;he San Antonio, and have frequently witnessed 
Mexican children unable to hide their grief when 
need of bread had compelled the sale of some f avor- 
te horse to a passing drover. But at no time in 
my life, before or since, have I felt so keenly the 
)arting between man and horse as I did that Sep 
tember evening in Montana. For on the trail an 
affection springs up between a man and his mount 
which is almost human. Every privation which 
le endures his horse endures with him, carrying 
lim through falling weather, swimming rivers by 
day and riding in the lead of stampedes by night, 
Iways faithful, always willing, and always pa- 
iently enduring every hardship, from exhausting 
lours under saddle to the sufferings of a dry drive. 
And on this drive, covering nearly three thousand 
males, all the ties which can exist between man 
aid beast had not only become cemented, but our 
renuda as a whole had won the affection of both 
mon and employer for carrying without serious 
mishap a valuable herd all the way from the Kio 
Grande to the Blackfoot Agency. Their bones 
m:iy be bleaching in some coulee by now, but the 
min who knew them then can never forget them 
or I the part they played in that long drive. 


BACK TO TEXAS 383 

Three men from the ranch rode into our camp 
that evening, and the next morning we counted over 
our horses to them and they passed into strangers 
hands. That there might be no delay, Flood had 
ridden into town the evening before and secured 
a wagon and gunny bags in which to sack our sad 
dles ; for while we willingly discarded all other ef 
fects, our saddles were of sufficient value to return 
and could be checked home as baggage. Our fore 
man reported that Lovell had arrived by stage and 
was awaiting us in town, having already arranged 
for our transportation as far as Omaha, and would 
accompany us to that city, where other transporta 
tion would have to be secured to our destination. 
In our impatience to get into town, we were trudg 
ing in by twos and threes before the wagon ar 
rived for our saddles, and had not Flood remained 
behind to look after them, they might have been 
abandoned. 

There was something about Silver Bow that re 
minded me of Frenchman s Ford on the Yellow 
stone. Being the terminal of the first railroad 
into Montana, it became the distributing point for 
all the western portion of that territory, and im 
mense ox trains were in sight for the transportation 
of goods to remoter points in the north and west. 
The population too was very much the same as at 
Frenchman s, though the town in general was an 
improvement over the former, there being some 
stability to its buildings. As we were to leave on 


384 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

an eleven o clock train, we had little opportunity 
to see the town, and for the short time at our dis 
posal, barber shops and clothing stores claimed our 
first attention. Most of us had some remnants of 
money, while my bunkie was positively rich, and 
Lovell advanced us fifty dollars apiece, pending a 
final settlement on reaching our destination. 

Within an hour after receiving the money, we 
blossomed out in new suits from head to heel. 
Our guard hung together as if we were still on 
night herd, and in the selection of clothing the 
opinion of the trio was equal to a purchase. The 
Kebel was very easily pleased in his selection, but 
John Officer and myself were rather fastidious. 
Officer was so tall it was with some little difficulty 
that a suit could be found to fit him, and when he 
had stuffed his pants in his boots and thrown away 
the vest, for he never wore either vest or suspen 
ders, he emerged looking like an Alpine tourist, 
with his new pink shirt and nappy brown beaver 
slouch hat jauntily cocked over one ear. As we 
sauntered out into the street, Priest was dressed 
as became his years and mature good sense, while 
my costume rivaled Officer s in gaudiness, and it 
is safe to assert two thirds of our outlay had gone 
for boots and hats. 

Flood overtook us in the street, and warned us 
to be on hand at the depot at least half an hour in 
advance of train time, informing us that he had 
checked our saddles and didn t want any of us to 


BACK TO TEXAS 385 

get left at the final moment. We all took a drink 
together, and Officer assured our foreman that he 
would be responsible for our appearance at the 
proper time, &quot;sober and sorry for it.&quot; So we 
sauntered about the straggling village, drinking 
occasionally, and on the suggestion of The Rebel, 
made a cow by putting in five apiece and had Offi 
cer play it on faro, he claiming to be an expert 
on the game. Taking the purse thus made up, 
John sat into a game, while Priest and myself, 
after watching the play some minutes, strolled out 
again and met others of our outfit in the street, 
scarcely recognizable in their killing rigs. The 
Eebel was itching for a monte game, but this not 
being a cow town there was none, and we strolled 
next into a saloon, where a piano was being played 
by a venerable-looking individual, who proved 
quite amiable, taking a drink with us and favor 
ing us with a number of selections of our choosing. 
We were enjoying this musical treat when our 
foreman came in and asked us to get the boys to 
gether. Priest and I at once started for Officer, 
whom we found quite a winner, but succeeded in 
choking him off on our employer s order, and after 
the checks had been cashed, took a parting drink, 
which made us the last in reaching the depot. 
When we were all assembled, our employer in 
formed us that he only wished to keep us together 
until embarking, and invited us to accompany him 
across the street to Tom Robbins s saloon. 


386 THE LOG OF A COWBOY 

On entering the saloon, Lovell inquired of the 
young fellow behind the bar, &quot; Son, what will you 
take for the privilege of my entertaining this outfit 
for fifteen minutes ? &quot; 

&quot;The ranch is yours, sir, and you can name 
your own figures,&quot; smilingly and somewhat 
shrewdly replied the young fellow, and promptly 
vacated his position. 

&quot;Now, two or three of you rascals get in behind 
there,&quot; said old man Don, as a quartet of the boys 
picked him up and set him on one end of the bar, 
&quot;and let s see what this ranch has in the way of 
refreshment.&quot; 

McCann, Quarternight, and myself obeyed the 
order, but the fastidious tastes of the line in front 
soon compelled us to call to our assistance both 
Eobbins and the young man who had just vacated 
the bar in our favor. 

&quot;That s right, fellows,&quot; roared Lovell from his 
commanding position, as he jingled a handful of 
gold coins, &quot;turn to and help wait on these thirsty 
Texans; and remember that nothing s too rich for 
our blood to-day. This outfit has made one of the 
longest cattle drives on record, and the best is none 
too good for them. So set out your best, for they 
can t cut much hole in the profits in the short time 
we have to stay. The train leaves in twenty min 
utes, and see that every rascal is provided with an 
extra bottle for the journey. And drop down this 


BACK TO TEXAS 387 

way when you get time, as I want a couple of 
boxes of your best cigars to smo.ke on the way. 
Montana has treated us well, and we want to leave 
some of our coin with you.&quot; 




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